IMM 


THE  DOUBLE  LIFE  OF 
MR.  ALFRED  BURTON 


Her  greeting  of  Mr.  Bomford  was  almost  enough  to  turn  his 
head.    Frontispiece,   See  page  175. 


THE  DOUBLE  LIFE 

OF 

MR.  ALFRED  BURTON 


BY 
E.   PHILLIPS   OPPENHEIM 

AUTHOR    OF    "the    MISCHIEF-MAKER,"     "THE    LIGHTKD 
WAY,"    "the    tempting    OF   TAVERNAKB,"    ETC. 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BT 

GUSTAVUS  C.   WIDNEY 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,   BROWN,   AND   COMPANY 

1913 


Copyright,  19  IS, 
By  Little,  Brown,  and  CoMPAwr. 

All  'rights  reserved 


Published,  August,  1913 


THE  COLONIAL  PRESS 
C.  H.  SIMONDS  &  CO.,  BOSTON,  V.  8.  A. 


stack 
Annex 


5"//5 


CONTENTS 

mAFTKR 

I. 

The  Fruit  of  the  Tree       .       .       .       . 

PAGB 

1 

II. 

A  Transformation 

15 

III. 

Mr.  Alfred  Burton's  Family     . 

27 

IV. 

A  Shock  to  Mr.  Waddlngton     . 

39 

V. 

Burton's  New  Life       .... 

52 

VI. 

A  Meeting  with  Ellen 

63 

VII. 

The  Truthjj'ul  Auctioneer  . 

78 

VIII. 

Hesitation 

89 

IX. 

The  Land  of  Enchantment 

101 

X. 

No  Reconciliation        .... 

112 

XI. 

The  Gate  into  Paradise 

121 

XII. 

A  Bolt  from  the  Blub 

132 

Xlll. 

Proof  Positive 

140 

XIV. 

The  Legend  of  the  Perfect  Food  . 

147 

XV. 

The  Professor  Insists 

160 

XVI. 

Enter  Mr.  Bomford!     .... 

170 

XVII. 

Burton  Declines           .... 

181 

XVIII. 

The  End  of  a  Dream    .... 

190 

XIX. 

A  Bad  Half -Hour        .... 

204 

XX. 

Another  Complication 

219 

XXI. 

An  Amazing  Transformation 

.     229 

XXII. 

Doubts 

.     239 

XXIII. 

Condemned! 

248 

VI 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTEB  FAQB 

XXIV.  Menatogen,  the  Mind  Food     .       .       .     259 

XXV.    Discontent 270 

XXVI.  The  End  of  a  Wonderful  Woeld         .     280 

XXVII.  Mr.  Waddington  Also        .       .       .       .290 

XXVIII.  The  Real  Alfred  Burton        .       .       .299 

XXIX.  Riches  and  Repentance     ....     307 

XXX.    A  Man's  Soul 317 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PACE 


Her  greeting  of  Mr.  Bomford  was  almost  enough 

to  turn  his  head Frontispiece 

"  He  who  shall  eat  of  the  brown  fruit  of  this  tree 
shall  see  the  things  of  Life  and  Death  as 
they  are  " Page       7 

"  Mr.  Bomford,"  he  sighed,  "  is  coming  up  the 

hill" "189 

Edith,  looking  like  an  exquisite  picture,   was 

sitting  by  his  side "      259 

"  I  am  getting  money,"  he  admitted  slowly.    "  I 

am  getting  a  great  deal  of  money  "  .       .         "      273 

"  Somewhere  under  that  cedar  tree,"  he  said,  "  a 

man's  soul  was  buried "        .       .       .       .        "321 


THE  DOUBLE  LIFE 

OF 

MR.   ALFRED  BURTON 


CHAPTER    I 


THE    FRUIT    OF    THE    TREE 


Mr.  Alfred  Burton,  although  he  was  blissfully 
and  completely  ignorant  of  the  fact,  stood  at  the 
door  of  Fate.  He  was  a  little  out  of  breath  and  his 
silk  hat  was  reclining  at  the  back  of  his  head.  In 
his  mouth  was  a  large  cigar  which  he  felt  certain 
was  going  to  disagree  with  him,  but  he  smoked  it 
because  it  had  been  presented  to  him  a  few  minutes 
ago  by  the  client  upon  whom  he  was  in  attendance. 
He  had  rather  deep-set  blue  eyes,  which  might  have 
been  attractive  but  for  a  certain  keenness  in  their 
outlook,  which  was  in  a  sense  indicative  of  the  meth- 
ods and  character  of  the  young  man  himself ;  a  pale, 
characterless  face,  a  straggling,  sandy  moustache, 
and  an  earnest,  not  to  say  convincing,  manner.     He 


2  THE   DOUBLE    LIFE   OF 

was  dressed  in  such  garments  as  the  head-clerk  of 
Messrs.  Waddington  &  Forbes,  third-rate  auction- 
eers and  house  agents,  might  have  been  expected  to 
select.    He  dangled  a  bunch  of  keys  in  his  hand. 

"  If  this  house  don't  suit  you,  sir,"  he  declared, 
confidently,  "  why,  there  isn't  one  in  the  whole  west- 
end  that  will.  That's  my  opinion,  anyway.  There's 
nothing  in  our  books  to  compare  with  it  for  value 
and  accommodation.  We  nearly  let  it  last  week  to 
Lord  Leconside,  but  Her  Ladyship  —  she  came 
round  with  me  herself  —  decided  that  it  was  just  a 
trifle  too  large.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  sir,"  this 
energetic  young  man  went  on,  confidentially,  "  the 
governor  insisted  upon  a  deposit  and  it  didn't  seem 
to  be  exactly  convenient.  It  isn't  always  these  peo- 
ple with  titles  who've  got  the  money.  That  we  find 
out  in  our  business,  sir,  as  quickly  as  anybody.  As 
for  the  steam  heating  you  were  talking  about,  Mr. 
Lynn,  why,  that's  all  very  well  for  New  York,"  he 
continued,  persuasively,  "  but  over  here  the  climate 
doesn't  call  for  it  —  you  can  take  it  from  me  that 
it  doesn't,  indeed,  Mr.  Lynn.  I  have  the  letting  in 
my  hands  of  as  many  houses  as  most  people,  and  you 
can  take  it  from  me,  sir,  as  the  direct  result  of  my 
experience,  that  over  here  they  won't  have  it  — 
won't  have  it  at  any  price,  sir.  Most  unhealthy  we 
find  it,  and  always  produces  a  rare  crop  of  colds  and 
coughs  unknown  to  those  that  are  used  to  an  honest 


MR. ALFRED    BURTON  3 

coal  fire.  It's  all  a  matter  of  climate,  sir,  after  all, 
isn't  it?" 

The  young  man  paused  to  take  breath.  His  client, 
who  had  been  listening  attentively  in  gloomy  but 
not  un appreciative  silence,  removed  his  cigar  from 
his  mouth.  He  was  a  middle-aged  American  with  a 
wife  and  daughters  on  their  way  over  from  New 
York,  and  his  business  was  to  take  a  house  before 
they  arrived.  It  wasn't  a  job  he  liked,  but  he  was 
making  the  best  of  it.  This  young  man  appealed 
to  his  sense  of  business. 

"  Say,"  he  remarked,  approvingly,  "  you've 
learned  how  to  talk  in  your  trade !  " 

Stimulated  by  this  encouragement,  Alfred  Bur- 
ton clapped  on  his  hat  a  little  more  securely,  took 
a  long  breath,  and  went  at  it  again. 

"  Why,  I'm  giving  myself  a  rest  this  morning, 
sir !  "  he  declared.  "  I  haven't  troubled  to  tell  you 
more  than  the  bare  facts.  This  house  doesn't  need 
any  talking  about  —  doesn't  need  a  word  said  about 
it.  Her  Ladyship's  last  words  to  us  were  —  Lady 
Idlemay,  you  know,  the  owner  of  the  house  —  *  Mr. 
Waddington  and  Mr.  Burton,'  she  said  —  she  was 
speaking  to  us  both,  for  the  governor  always  intro- 
duces me  to  clients  as  being  the  one  who  does  most 
of  the  letting,  —  *  Mr.  Waddington  and  Mr.  Bur- 
ton,' she  said,  *  if  a  tenant  comes  along  whom  you 
think  I'd  like  to  have  living  in  my  rooms  and  using 


4  THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 

my  furniture,  breathing  my  air,  so  to  speak,  why, 
go  ahead  and  let  the  house,  rents  being  shockingly 
low  just  now,  with  agricultural  depression  and  what 
not,  but  sooner  than  not  let  it  to  gentlepeople,  I'll 
do  without  the  money,'  Her  Ladyship  declared. 
Now  you're  just  the  sort  of  tenant  she'd  like  to 
have  here.  I'm  quite  sure  of  that,  Mr.  Lynn. 
I  should  take  a  pleasure  in  bringing  you  two  to- 
gether." 

Mr.  Lynn  grunted.  He  was  perfectly  well  aware 
that  the  house  would  seem  more  desirable  to  his  wife 
and  daughters  from  the  very  fact  that  it  belonged 
to  a  "  Lady "  anybody.  He  was  perfectly  well 
aware,  also,  that  his  companion  had  suspected  this. 
The  consideration  of  these  facts  left  him,  however, 
unaflTected.  He  was  disposed,  if  anything,  to  admire 
the  cleverness  of  the  young  man  who  had  realized 
an  outside  asset. 

"  Well,  I've  seen  pretty  well  all  over  it,"  he  re- 
marked. "  I'll  go  back  to  the  office  with  you,  any- 
how, and  have  a  word  with  Mr.  Waddington.  By 
the  way,  what's  that  room  behind  you.?  " 

The  young  man  glanced  carelessly  around  at  the 
door  of  the  room  of  Fate  and  down  at  the  bunch 
of  keys  which  he  held  in  his  hand.  He  even  chuckled 
as  he  replied. 

"  I  was  going  to  mention  the  matter  of  that  room, 
sir,"  he  replied,  "  because,  if  perfectly  agreeable  to 


MR. ALFRED    BURTON  5 

the  tenant,  Her  Ladyship  would  Hke  to  keep  it 
locked  up." 

"  Locked  up  ?  "  Mr.  Lynn  repeated.   "  And  why  ?  " 

**  Regular  queer  story,  sir,"  the  young  man  de- 
clared, confidentially.  "  The  late  Earl  was  a  great 
traveller  in  the  East,  as  you  may  have  heard,  and 
he  was  always  poking  about  in  some  ruined  city  or 
other  in  the  desert,  and  picking  up  things  and 
making  discoveries.  Well,  last  time  he  came  home 
from  abroad,  he  brought  with  him  an  old  Egyptian 
or  Arab,  —  I  don't  know  which  he  was,  but  he  was 
brown,  —  settled  him  down  in  this  room  —  in  his 
own  house,  mind  —  and  wouldn't  have  him  disturbed 
or  interfered  with,  not  at  any  price.  Well,  the  old 
chap  worked  here  night  and  day  at  some  sort  of 
writing,  and  then,  naturally  enough,  what  with  not 
having  the  sort  of  grub  he  liked,  and  never  going 
outside  the  doors,  he  croaked." 

"  He  what?  "  Mr.  Lynn  interposed. 

"  He  died,"  the  young  man  explained.  **  It  was 
just  about  the  time  that  the  Earl  was  ill  himself. 
His  Lordship  gave  orders  that  the  body  was  to  be 
buried  and  the  room  locked  up,  in  case  the  old  chap's 
heirs  should  come  along.  Seems  he'd  brought  a  few 
odd  things  of  his  own  over  —  nothing  whatever  of 
any  value.  Anyway,  those  were  Lord  Idlemay's 
wishes,  and  the  room  has  been  locked  up  ever  since.'* 

Mr.  Lynn  was  interested. 


6  THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 

"  No  objection  to  our  just  looking  inside,  I  sup- 
pose? " 

"  None  whatever,"  the  young  man  declared, 
promptly.  "  I  was  going  to  have  a  peep  myself. 
Here  goes ! " 

He  fitted  the  key  in  the  lock  and  pushed  the  door 
open.  Mr.  Lynn  took  one  step  forward  and  drew 
back  hurriedly. 

"  Thanks !  "  he  said.  "  That'll  do  !  I've  seen  all 
I  want  —  and  smelt !  " 

Mr.  Alfred  Burton,  fortunately  or  unfortunately, 
was  possessed  of  less  sensitive  nasal  organs  and  an 
indomitable  curiosity.  The  room  was  dark  and 
stuffy,  and  a  wave  of  pungent  odor  swept  out  upon 
them  with  the  opening  of  the  door.  Nevertheless, 
he  did  not  immediately  close  it. 

"  One  moment !  "  he  muttered,  peering  inside. 
*'  I'll  just  look  around  and  see  that  everything  is 
in  order." 

He  crossed  the  threshold  and  passed  into  the 
room.  It  was  certainly  a  curious  apartment.  The 
walls  were  hung  not  with  paper  at  all,  but  with  rugs 
of  some  Oriental  material  which  had  the  effect  of 
still  further  increasing  the  gloom.  There  were 
neither  chairs  nor  tables  —  no  furniture  at  all,  in 
fact,  of  any  account  —  but  in  the  furthest  corner 
was  a  great  pile  of  cushions,  and  on  the  floor  by 
the  side  a  plain  strip  of  sandalwood,  covered  with 


He  who  sliall  eat  of  the  brown  fruit  of  thi.s  tree  shall  see 
the  things  of  Life  and  Death  as  thej*  are."    Poge  7. 


MR. ALFRED    BURTON  7 

a  purple  cloth,  on  which  were  several  square-shaped 
sheets  of  paper,  a  brass  inkstand,  and  a  bundle  of 
quill  pens.  On  the  extreme  corner  of  this  strip  of 
wood,  which  seemed  to  have  been  used  as  a  writing 
desk  by  some  one  reclining  upon  the  cushions,  was 
the  strangest  article  of  all.  Alfred  Burton  stared 
at  it  with  wide-open  eyes.  It  was  a  tiny  plant  grow- 
ing out  of  a  small-sized  flower-pot,  with  real  green 
leaves  and  a  cluster  of  queer  little  brown  fruit  hang- 
ing down  from  among  them. 

"  Jiminy !  "  the  clerk  exclaimed.  "  I  say,  Mr. 
Lynn,  sir ! " 

But  Mr.  Lynn  had  gone  off  to  pace  the  dining- 
room  once  more.  Burton  moved  slowly  forward  and 
stooped  down  over  the  cushions.  He  took  up  the 
sheets  of  paper  which  lay  upon  the  slab  of  sandal- 
wood. They  were  covered  with  wholly  indecipher- 
able characters  save  for  the  last  page  only,  and 
there,  even  as  he  stood  with  it  in  his  fingers,  he  saw, 
underneath  the  concluding  paragraph  of  those  un- 
intelligible hieroglyphics,  a  few  words  of  faintly 
traced  English,  laboriously  printed,  probably  a 
translation.  He  struck  a  match  and  read  them 
slowly  out  to  himself: 

"  It  is  finished.  The  nineteenth  generation  has  tri- 
umphed. He  who  shall  eat  of  the  brown  fruit  of  this 
tree  shall  see  the  things  of  Life  and  Death  as  they  are. 
He  who  shall  eat  —  " 


8  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE   OF 

The  translation  concluded  abruptly.  Mr.  Alfred 
Burton  removed  his  silk  hat  and  reflectively  scratched 
his  head. 

"  Queer  sort  of  joker  he  must  have  been,'*  he  re- 
marked to  himself.  "  I  wonder  what  he  was  get- 
ting at?  " 

His  eyes  fell  upon  the  little  tree.  He  felt  the 
earth  in  the  pot  —  it  was  quite  dry.  Yet  the  tree 
itself  was  fresh  and  green. 

"  Here  goes  for  a  brown  bean,"  he  continued, 
and  plucked  one. 

Even  then,  while  he  held  it  in  his  fingers,  he  hesi- 
tated. 

"  Don't  suppose  it  will  do  me  any  harm,"  he  mut- 
tered, doubtfully. 

There  was  naturally  no  reply.  Mr.  Alfred  Bur- 
ton laughed  uneasily  to  himself.  The  shadows  of 
the  room  and  its  curious  perfume  were  a  trifle  dis- 
concerting. 

"  Risk  it,  anyway,"  he  concluded.     *'  Here  goes !  " 

He  raised  the  little  brown  fruit  —  which  did  in- 
deed somewhat  resemble  a  bean  —  to  his  mouth  and 
swallowed  it.  He  found  it  quite  tasteless,  but  the 
deed  was  no  sooner  done  than  he  was  startled  by 
a  curious  buzzing  in  his  ears  and  a  momentary  but 
peculiar  lapse  of  memory.  He  sat  and  looked  around 
him  like  a  man  who  has  been  asleep  and  suddenly 
awakened    in    unfamiliar    surroundings.      Then    the 


MR. ALFRED    BURTON  9 

sound  of  his  client's  voice  suddenly  recalled  him  to 
himself.  He  started  up  and  peered  through  the 
gloom. 

"  Who's  there  ?  "  he  asked,  sharply. 

*'  Say,  young  man,  I  am  waiting  for  you  when 
you're  quite  ready,"  Mr.  Lynn  remarked  from  the 
threshold.  "  Queer  sort  of  atmosphere  in  there, 
isn't  it?  " 

Mr.  Alfred  Burton  came  slowly  out  and  locked 
the  door  of  the  room.  Even  then  he  was  dimly  con- 
scious that  something  had  happened  to  him.  He 
hated  the  musty  odor  of  the  place,  the  dusty,  unswept 
hall,  and  the  general  air  of  desertion.  He  wanted 
to  get  out  into  the  street  and  he  hurried  his  client 
toward  the  front  door.  As  soon  as  he  had  locked 
up,  he  breathed  a  little  sigh  of  relief. 

"  What  a  delicious  soft  wind ! "  he  exclaimed,  re- 
moving his  unsightly  hat.  "  Really,  I  think  that 
when  we  get  a  sunny  day  like  this,  April  is  almost 
our  most  beautiful  month." 

Mr.  Lynn  stared  at  his  companion,  who  was  now 
slowly  descending  the  steps. 

"  Say,  about  this  house,"  he  began,  "  I  guess  I'd 
better  take  it.  It  may  not  be  exactly  what  I  want 
but  It  seems  to  me  to  be  about  as  near  as  anything 
I  am  likely  to  find.  We'll  go  round  to  the  office 
right  away  and  fix  things  up." 

Mr.  Alfred  Burton  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 


10  THE   DOUBLE    LIFE   OF 

"  I  don't  think  I  would  take  it,  if  I  were  you,  Mr. 
Lynn,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Lynn  stopped  short  upon  the  pavement  and 
looked  at  his  companion  in  amazement.  The  latter 
had  the  air  of  one  very  little  interested  in  the  sub- 
ject of  conversation.  He  was  watching  approvingly 
a  barrowful  of  lilac  and  other  spring  flowers  being 
■wheeled  along  by  a  flower-seller  in  the  middle  of  the 
road. 

"  What  an  exquisite  perfume ! "  the  young  man 
murmured,  enthusiastically.  "  Doesn't  it  remind 
you,  Mr.  Lynn,  of  a  beautiful  garden  somewhere 
right  away  in  the  country  —  one  of  those  old-fash- 
ioned gardens,  you  know,  with  narrow  paths  where 
you  have  to  push  your  way  through  the  flowers,  and 
where  there  are  always  great  beds  of  pink  and  white 
stocks  near  the  box  edges  ?  And  do  you  notice  — 
an  accident,  of  course  —  but  what  a  delicate  blend 
of  color  the  lilac  and  those  yellow  jonquils  make!" 

"  I  can't  smell  anything,"  the  American  declared, 
a  little  impatiently,  "  and  I  don't  know  as  I  want 
to  just  now.  I  am  here  to  talk  business,  if  you 
don't  mind." 

"  In  one  moment,"  Burton  replied.  "  Excuse  me 
for  one  moment,  if  you  please." 

He  hastened  across  the  street  and  returned  a  mo- 
ment or  two  later  with  a  bunch  of  violets  in  his 
hand.     Mr.  Lynn  watched  him,  partly  in  amazement, 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  ii 

partly  in  disapproval.  There  seemed  to  be  very 
little  left  of  the  smart,  businesslike  young  man 
whose  methods,  only  a  short  time  ago,  had  com- 
manded his  unwilling  admiration.  Mr.  Alfred  Bur- 
ton's expression  had  undergone  a  complete  change. 
His  eyes  had  lost  their  calculating  twinkle,  his  mouth 
had  softened.  A  pleasant  but  somewhat  abstracted 
smile  had  taken  the  place  of  his  forced  amiability. 

"  You  will  forgive  me,  won't  you?  "  he  said,  as 
he  regained  the  pavement.  "  I  really  haven't  smelt 
violets  before  this  year.  Spring  comes  upon  us 
Londoners  so  suddenly." 

"  About  that  house,  now,"  the  American  insisted, 
a  little  sharply. 

*'  Certainly,"  Burton  replied,  removing  his  eyes 
unwillingly  from  the  passing  barrow.  "  I  really 
don't  think  you  had  better  take  it,  Mr.  Lynn.  You 
see,  it  is  not  generally  known,  but  there  is  no  doubt 
that  Lord  Idlemay  had  typhoid  fever  there." 

**  Typhoid !  "  Mr.  Lynn  exclaimed,  incredulously. 

His  companion  nodded. 

*'  Two  of  the  servants  were  down  with  it  as  well," 
he  continued.  "  We  implored  Lady  Idlemay,  when 
she  offered  us  the  letting  of  the  house,  to  have  the 
drains  put  in  thorough  order,  but  when  we  got  the 
estimate  out  for  her  she  absolutely  declined.  To 
tell  you  the  truth,  the  best  agents  had  all  refused, 
under  the   circumstances,   to   have   the   house   upon 


12  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

their  books  at  all.     That  is  why  we  got  the  letting 

of  it." 

Mr.  Lynn  removed  the  cigar  from  his  mouth  for 
a  moment.  There  was  a  slight  frown  upon  his  fore- 
head.   He  was  puzzled. 

"  Say,  you're  not  getting  at  me  for  any  reason, 
are  you.''  "  he  demanded. 

"  My  dear  sir !  "  Burton  protested,  eagerly.  "  I 
am  simply  doing  my  duty  and  telling  you  the  truth. 
The  house  is  not  in  a  fit  state  to  be  let  to  any  one 
—  certainly  not  to  a  man  with  a  family.  If  you  will 
permit  me  to  say  so,  you  are  not  going  the  right 
way  to  secure  a  suitable  house.  You  simply  walked 
into  our  office  because  you  saw  the  sign  up,  and 
listened  to  anything  the  governor  had  to  say.  We 
haven't  any  west-end  houses  at  all  upon  our  books. 
It  isn't  our  business,  unfortunately.  Miller  &  Sons, 
or  Roscoe's,  are  the  best  people.  No  one  would  even 
come  to  see  you  at  Idlemay  House,  much  less  stay 
with  you  —  the  place  has  such  a  bad  reputation." 

**  Then  will  you  be  good  enough  to  just  explain 
to  me  why  you  were  cracking  it  up  like  blazes  only 
a  few  minutes  ago  ?  "  Mr.  Lynn  demanded,  indig- 
nantly.    "  I  nearly  took  the  darned  place ! " 

Mr.  Burton  shook  his  head  penitently. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  I  cannot  explain,  sir,"  he  con- 
fessed. "  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  do  not  under- 
stand in  the  least  how  I  could  have  brought  myself 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  13 

to  be  so  untruthful.  I  am  only  thankful  that  no 
harm  has  been  done.'* 

They  had  reached  the  comer  of  the  street  in  which 
the  offices  of  Messrs.  Waddington  &  Forbes  were  sit- 
uated.   Mr.  Lynn  came  to  a  full  stop. 

"  I  can't  see  but  what  we  might  just  as  well  part 
here,  young  man,"  he  declared.  "  There's  no  use 
in  my  coming  to  your  office,  after  what  you've  told 
me." 

"  Not  the  slightest,"  Mr.  Burton  admitted 
frankly,  "  in  fact  you  are  better  away.  Mr.  Wad- 
dington would  certainly  try  to  persuade  you  to  take 
the  house.  If  you'll  accept  my  advice,  sir,  you  will 
go  to  Miller  &  Sons  in  St.  James's  Place.  They 
have  all  the  best  houses  on  their  books  and  they  are 
almost  certain  to  find  something  to  suit  you." 

Mr.  L3nin  gazed  once  more  at  his  companion  curi- 
ously. 

*'  Say,  I'm  not  quite  sure  that  I  can  size  you  up, 
even  now,"  he  said.  "  At  first  I  thought  that  you 
were  a  rare  little  hustler,  right  on  the  job.  I  was 
set  against  that  house  and  yet  you  almost  persuaded 
me  into  taking  it.  What's  come  over  you,  any- 
way ?  " 

Mr.  Burton  shook  his  head  dubiously. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  it  is  no  use  asking  me,"  he 
replied,  "  for  I  really  don't  quite  know  myself." 

Mr.  Lynn  still  lingered.     The  longer  he  looked 


14  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

at  his  companion,  the  more  he  appreciated  the  subtle 
change  of  demeanor  and  language  which  had  cer- 
tainly transformed  Mr.  Alfred  Burton. 

"  It  was  after  you  came  out  of  that  little  room," 
he  continued,  meditatively,  "  where  that  Oriental 
fellow  had  been  shut  up.  The  more  I  think  of  it, 
the  odder  it  seems.  You  were  as  perky  as  mustard 
when  you  went  in  and  you've  been  sort  of  dazed  ever 
since  you  came  out." 

Mr.  Burton  lifted  his  hat. 

"  Good  day,  sir ! "  he  said.  "  I  trust  that  you 
will  find  a  residence  to  suit  you." 

Mr.  Lynn  strolled  off  with  a  puzzled  frown  upon 
his  forehead,  and  Alfred  Burton,  with  a  slight  ges- 
ture of  aversion,  pushed  open  the  swinging  doors 
which  led  into  the  offices  of  Messrs.  Waddington  & 
Forbes. 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  15 


CHAPTER    II 

A    TRANSFORMATION 

Burton  stood  for  a  moment  upon  the  threshold 
of  the  office,  looking  around  him.  A  new  and  pecul- 
iar distaste  for  these  familiar  surroundings  seemed 
suddenly  to  have  sprung  into  life.  For  the  first 
time  he  realized  the  intense  ugliness  of  this  scene  of 
his  daily  labors.  The  long  desk,  ink-splashed  and 
decrepit,  was  covered  with  untidy  piles  of  papers, 
some  of  them  thick  with  dust;  the  walls  were  hung 
with  seedy-looking  files  and  an  array  of  tattered 
bills ;  there  were  cobwebs  in  every  corner,  gaps  in 
the  linoleum  floor-covering.  In  front  of  the  office- 
boy  —  a  youth  about  fourteen  years  of  age,  who 
represented  the  remaining  clerical  staff  of  the  estab- 
lishment —  were  pinned  up  several  illustrations  cut 
out  from  Comic  Cuts,  the  Police  News,  and  various 
other  publications  of  a  similar  order.  As  Burton 
looked  around  him,  his  distaste  grew.  It  seemed 
impossible  that  he  had  ever  existed  for  an  hour  amid 
such  an  environment.  The  prospect  of  the  future 
was  suddenly  hugely  distasteful. 

Very  slowly  he  changed  his  coat  and  climbed  on 


i6  THE   DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

to  his  worn  horsehair  stool,  without  exchanging  his 
usual  facetious  badinage  with  the  remaining  mem- 
ber of  the  staff.  The  office-boy,  who  had  thought 
of  something  good  to  say,  rather  resented  his  silence. 
It  forced  him  into  taking  the  initiative,  a  position 
which  placed  him  from  the  first  at  a  disadvantage. 

"Any  luck  with  the  Yank,  Mr.  Burton?"  he  in- 
quired, with  anxious  civility. 

Burton  shook  his  head. 

"  None  at  all,"  he  confessed.  "  He  wouldn't  have 
anything  to  do  with  the  house." 

"  Has  any  one  been  letting  on  to  him  about  it,  do 
you  think?  " 

"I  don't  think  so,"  Burton  replied.  "I  don't 
think  any  one  else  has  mentioned  it  to  him  at  all. 
He  seems  to  be  a  complete  stranger  here." 

*'  Couldn't  have  been  quite  at  your  best,  could  you, 
Mr.  Burton,  sir?  Not  your  usual  bright  and  elo- 
quent self,  eh?  " 

The  boy  grinned  and  then  ducked,  expecting  a 
missile.  None  came,  however.  Alfred  Burton  was 
in  a  very  puzzled  state  of  mind,  and  he  neither 
showed  nor  indeed  felt  any  resentment.  He  turned 
and  faced  his  subordinate. 

"  I  really  don't  know,  Clarkson,"  he  admitted. 
"  I  am  sure  that  I  was  quite  polite,  and  I  showed 
him  everything  he  wished  to  see ;  but,  of  course, 
I  had  to  tell  him  the  truth  about  the  place." 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  17 

**  The  what  ?  "  young  Clarkson  inquired,  in  a  mys- 
tified tone. 

"  The  truth,"  Burton  repeated. 

**  Wot  yer  mean  ?  " 

**  About  the  typhoid  and  that,"  Burton  explained, 
mildly. 

The  office-boy  pondered  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
slowly  opened  a  ledger,  drew  a  day-book  towards 
him,  and  continued  his  work.  He  was  being  jollied, 
of  course,  but  the  thing  was  too  subtle  for  him  at 
present.  He  decided  to  wait  for  the  next  move. 
Burton  continued  to  regard  his  subordinate,  how- 
ever, and  by  degrees  an  expression  of  pained  dis- 
approval crept  into  his  face. 

"  Clarkson,"  he  said,  "  if  you  will  forgive  my 
mentioning  a  purely  personal  matter,  why  do  you 
wear  such  uncomfortable  collars  and  such  an  ex- 
ceedingly unbecoming  tie  ?  " 

The  office-boy  swung  round  upon  his  stool.  His 
mouth  was  wide  open  like  a  rabbit's.  He  fingered 
the  offending  articles. 

*'  What's  the  matter  with  them  ?  "  he  demanded, 
getting  his  question  out  with  a  single  breath. 

"  Your  collars  are  much  too  high,"  Burton  pointed 
out.  "  One  can  see  how  they  cut  into  your  neck. 
Then  why  wear  a  tie  of  that  particular  shade  of 
vivid  purple  when  your  clothes  themselves,  with  that 
blue   and   yellow    stripe,    are    somewhat   noticeable? 


i8  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

There  Is  a  lack  of  symphony  about  the  arrangement, 
an  entire  absence  of  taste,  which  is  apt  to  depress 
one.  The  whole  effect  which  you  produce  upon  one's 
vision  is  abominable.  You  won't  think  my  mention- 
ing this  a  liberty,  I  hope?  " 

"  What  about  your  own  red  tie  and  dirty  collar?  " 
young  Clarkson  asked,  indignantly.  "  What  price 
your  eight  and  sixpenny  trousers,  eh,  with  the  blue 
stripe  and  the  grease  stains?  What  about  the  sham 
diamond  stud  in  your  dickey,  and  your  three  inches 
of  pinned  on  cuff?  Fancy  your  appearance,  per- 
haps !  Why,  I  wouldn't  walk  the  streets  in  such  a 
rig-out !  " 

Burton  listened  to  his  junior's  attack  unresent- 
ingly  but  with  increasing  bewilderment.  Then  he 
slipped  from  his  seat  and  walked  hurriedly  across 
to  the  looking-glass,  which  he  took  down  from  its 
nail.  He  gazed  at  himself  long  and  steadily  and 
from  every  possible  angle.  It  is  probable  that  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  saw  himself  then  as  he 
really  was.  He  was  plain,  of  insignificant  appear- 
ance, he  was  ill  and  tastelessly  dressed.  He  stood 
there  before  the  sixpenny-ha'penny  mirror  and 
drank  the  cup  of  humiliation. 

"  Calling  my  tie,  indeed !  "  the  office-boy  muttered, 
his  smouldering  resentment  bringing  him  back  to  the 
attack.  "  Present  from  my  best  girl,  that  was,  and 
she  knows  what's  what.     Young  lady  with  a  place  in 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  19 

a  west-end  milliner's  shop,  too.  If  that  doesn't  mean 
good  taste,  I  should  like  to  know  what  does.  Look 
at  jour  socks,  too,  all  coming  down  over  the  tops 
of  your  boots !  Nasty  dirty  pink  and  green  stripes ! 
There's  another  thing  about  my  collar,  too,"  he 
continued,  speaking  with  renewed  earnestness  as  he 
appreciated  his  senior's  stupefaction.  "  It  was  clean 
yesterday,  and  that's  more  than  yours  was  —  or  the 
day  before ! " 

Burton  shivered  as  he  finally  turned  away  from 
that  looking-glass.  The  expression  upon  his  face 
was  indescribable. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  spoke,  Clarkson,"  he  apologized 
humbly.  "  It  certainly  seemed  to  have  slipped  my 
memory  that  I  myself  —  I  can't  think  how  I  man- 
aged to  make  such  hideous,  unforgivable  mistakes." 

"While  we  are  upon  the  subject,"  his  subordinate 
continued,  ruthlessly,  "  why  don't  you  give  your 
fingernails  a  scrub  sometimes,  eh?  You  might  give 
your  coat  a  brush,  too,  now  and  then,  while  you  are 
about  it.  All  covered  with  scurf  and  dust  about  the 
shoulders !     I'm  all  for  cleanliness,  I  am," 

Burton  made  no  reply.  He  was  down  and  his 
junior  kicked  him. 

"  I'd  like  to  see  the  color  of  your  shirt  if  you  took 
those  paper  cuffs  off !  "  the  latter  exclaimed.  "  Why 
don't  you  chuck  that  rotten  dickey  away  ?     Cave !  " 

The    door    leading    into    the    private    office    was 


20  THE   DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

brusquely  opened.  Mr.  Waddington,  the  only  ex- 
isting member  of  the  firm,  entered  —  a  large,  un- 
tidy-looking man,  also  dressed  in  most  uncomely 
fashion,  and  wearing  an  ill-brushed  silk  hat  on  the 
back  of  his  head.  He  turned  at  once  to  his  right- 
hand  man. 

*'  Well,  did  you  land  him  ?  "  he  demanded,  with 
some  eagerness. 

Burton  shook  his  head  regretfully. 

*'  It  was  quite  impossible  to  interest  him  in  the 
house  at  all,  sir,"  he  declared.  "  He  seemed  in- 
clined to  take  it  at  first,  but  directly  he  understood 
the  situation  he  would  have  nothing  more  to  do  with 
it." 

Mr.  Waddington's  face  fell.  He  was  disap- 
pointed.    He  was  also  puzzled. 

"  Understood  the  situation,"  he  repeated.  "  What 
the  dickens  do  you  mean.  Burton.''  What  situa- 
tion?" 

"  I  mean  about  the  typhoid,  sir,  and  Lady  Idle- 
may's  refusal  to  have  the  drains  put  in  order." 

Mr.  Waddington's  expression  for  a  few  moments 
was  an  interesting  and  instructive  study.  His  jaw 
had  fallen,  but  he  was  still  too  bewildered  to  realize 
the  situation  properly. 

"  But  who  told  him  ?  "  he  gasped. 

"  I  did,"  Burton  replied  gently.  "  I  could  not 
possibly  let  him  remain  in  ignorance  of  the  facts." 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  21 

"  You  couldn't  —  what?  " 

*'  I  could  not  let  him  the  house  without  explaining 
all  the  circumstances,  sir,"  Burton  declared,  watch- 
ing his  senior  anxiously.  "  I  am  sure  you  would  not 
have  wished  me  to  do  anything  of  the  sort,  would 
you?  " 

What  Mr.  Waddington  said  was  unimportant. 
There  was  very  little  that  he  forgot  and  he  was  an 
auctioneer  with  a  low-class  clientele  and  a  fine  flow 
of  language.  When  he  had  finished,  the  ofBce-boy 
was  dumb  with  admiration.  Burton  was  looking  a 
little  pained  and  he  had  the  shocked  expression  of 
a  musician  who  has  been  listening  to  a  series  of  dis- 
cords.    Otherwise  he  was  unmoved. 

"  Your  duty  was  to  let  that  house,"  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton wound  up,  striking  the  palm  of  one  hand  with 
the  fist  of  the  other.  "  What  do  I  give  you  forty- 
four  shillings  a  week  for,  I  should  like  to  know? 
To  go  and  blab  trade  secrets  to  every  customer  that 
comes  along?  If  you  couldn't  get  him  to  sign  the 
lease,  you  ought  to  have  worked  a  deposit,  at  any 
rate.  He'd  have  had  to  forfeit  that,  even  if  he'd 
found  out  afterwards.'* 

**  I  am  sorry,"  Burton  said,  speaking  in  a  much 
lower  tone  than  was  usual  with  him,  but  with  a  curi- 
ous amount  of  confidence.  "  It  would  have  been 
a  moral  falsehood  if  I  had  attempted  anything  of 
the  sort.     I  could  not  possibly  ofi^er  the  house  to 


22  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

Mr.  Lynn  or  anybody  else,  without  disclosing  its 
drawbacks." 

The  auctioneer's  face  had  become  redder.  His 
eyes  seemed  on  the  point  of  coming  out  of  his  head. 
He  became  almost  incoherent. 

"  God  bless  my  soul !  "  he  spluttered.  "  Have  you 
gone  mad,  Burton  .f*  What's  come  to  you  since  the 
morning?  Have  you  changed  into  a  blithering  fool, 
or  what  ?  " 

"  I  think  not,  sir,"  Burton  replied,  gravely.  *'  I 
don't  —  exactly  remember  for  the  moment,"  he  went 
on  with  a  slight  frown.  "  My  head  seems  a  little 
confused,  but  I  cannot  believe  that  it  has  been  our 
custom  to  conduct  our  business  in  the  fashion  you 
are  suggesting." 

Mr.  Waddington  walked  round  the  office,  holding 
his  head  between  his  hands. 

*'  I  don't  suppose  either  of  us  has  been  drinking 
at  this  hour  in  the  morning,"  he  muttered,  when  he 
came  to  a  standstill  once  more.  "  Look  here,  Bur- 
ton, I  don't  want  to  do  anything  rash.  Go  home  — 
never  mind  the  time  —  go  home  this  minute  before 
I  break  out  again.  Come  to-morrow  morning,  as 
usual.  We'll  talk  it  out  then.  God  bless  my  soul !  " 
he  added,  as  Burton  picked  up  his  hat  with  a  little 
sigh  of  relief  and  turned  toward  the  door.  "  Either 
I'm  drunk  or  the  fellow's  got  religion  or  something  1 
I  never  heard  such  infernal  rubbish  in  my  life ! " 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  23 

"  Made  a  nasty  remark  about  my  tie  just  now,  sir," 
Clarkson  said,  with  dignity,  as  his  senior  disap- 
peared. "  Quite  uncalled  for.  I  don't  fancy  he  can 
be  well." 

"  Ever  known  him  like  it  before .''  "  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton  inquired. 

"  Never,  sir.  I  thought  he  seemed  chippier  than 
ever  this  morning  when  he  went  out.  His  last  words 
were  that  he'd  bet  me  a  packet  of  Woodbines  that 
he  landed  the  old  fool." 

"  He's  gone  dotty ! "  the  auctioneer  decided,  as  he 
turned  back  towards  his  sanctum.  "  He's  either 
gone  dotty  or  he's  been  drinking.  The  last  chap 
in  the  world  I  should  have  thought  it  of ! " 

The  mental  attitude  of  Alfred  Burton,  as  he 
emerged  into  the  street,  was  in  some  respects  curi- 
ous. He  was  not  in  the  least  sorry  for  what  had 
happened.  On  the  contrary,  he  found  himself  wish- 
ing that  the  day's  respite  had  not  been  granted  to 
him,  and  that  his  departure  from  the  place  of  his 
employment  was  final.  He  was  very  much  in  the 
position  of  a  man  who  has  been  transferred  without 
warning  or  notice  from  the  streets  of  London  to  the 
streets  of  Pekin.  Every  object  which  he  saw  he 
looked  upon  with  different  eyes.  Every  face  which 
he  passed  produced  a  different  impression  upon  him. 
He  looked  about  him  with  all  the   avidity   of  one 


24  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

suddenly  conscious  of  a  great  store  of  unused  impres- 
sions. It  was  like  a  second  birth.  He  neither  under- 
stood the  situation  nor  attempted  to  analyze  it.  He 
was  simply  conscious  of  a  most  delightful  and  inex- 
plicable light-heartedness,  and  of  a  host  of  sensations 
which  seemed  to  produce  at  every  moment  some  new 
pleasure.  His  first  and  most  pressing  anxiety  was 
a  singular  one.  He  loathed  himself  from  head  to 
foot.  He  shuddered  as  he  passed  the  shop-windows 
for  fear  he  should  see  his  own  reflection.  He  made 
his  way  unfalteringly  to  an  outfitter's  shop,  and  from 
there,  with  a  bundle  under  his  arm,  to  the  baths. 
It  was  a  very  different  Alfred  Burton  indeed  who, 
an  hour  or  two  later,  issued  forth  into  the  streets. 
Gone  was  the  Cockney  young  man  with  the  sandy 
moustache,  the  cheap  silk  hat  worn  at  various  angles 
to  give  himself  a  rakish  air,  the  flashy  clothes,  cheap 
and  pretentious,  the  assured,  not  to  say  bumptious 
air  so  sedulously  copied  from  the  deportment  of  his 
employer.  Enter  a  new  and  completely  transformed 
Alfred  Burton,  an  inofi^ensive-looking  young  man  in 
a  neat  gray  suit,  a  lilac-colored  tie  of  delicate  shade, 
a  flannel  shirt  with  no  pretence  at  cufi^s,  but  with  a 
spotless  turned  down  collar,  a  soft  Homburg  hat,  a 
clean-shaven  lip.  With  a  new  sense  of  self-respect 
and  an  immense  feeling  of  relief,  Burton,  after  a 
few  moments'  hesitation,  directed  his  footsteps 
towards  the  National  Gallery.     He  had  once  been 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  25 

there  years  ago  on  a  wet  Bank  Holiday,  and  some 
faint  instinct  of  memory  which  somehow  or  other 
had  survived  the  burden  of  his  sordid  days  suddenly 
reasserted  itself.  He  climbed  the  steps  and  passed 
through  the  portals  with  the  beating  heart  of  the 
explorer  who  climbs  his  last  hill.  It  was  his  entrance, 
this,  into  the  new  world  whose  call  was  tearing  at 
his  heartstrings.  He  bought  no  catalogue,  he  asked 
no  questions.  From  room  to  room  he  passed  with 
untiring  footsteps.  His  whole  being  was  filled  with 
the  immeasurable  relief,  the  almost  passionate  joy, 
of  one  who  for  the  first  time  is  able  to  gratify  a  new 
and  marvelous  appetite.  With  his  eyes,  his  soul,  all 
these  late-bom,  strange,  appreciative  powers,  he 
ministered  to  an  appetite  which  seemed  unquenchable. 
It  was  dusk  when  he  came  out,  his  cheeks  burning, 
his  eyes  bright.  He  carried  a  new  music,  a  whole 
world  of  new  joys  with  him,  but  his  most  vital  sen- 
sation was  one  of  glowing  and  passionate  sympathy. 
They  were  splendid,  these  heroes  who  had  seen  the 
truth  and  had  struggled  to  give  life  to  it  with  pencil 
or  brush  or  chisel,  that  others,  too,  might  see  and 
understand.    If  only  one  could  do  one's  little  share ! 

He  walked  slowly  along,  absorbed  in  his  thoughts, 
unconscious  even  of  the  direction  in  which  his  foot- 
steps were  taking  him.  When  at  last  he  paused,  he 
was  outside  a  theatre.  The  name  of  Ibsen  occupied 
a  prominent  place  upon  the  boards.     From  some- 


26  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

where  among  the  hidden  cells  of  his  memory  came  a 
glimmering  recollection  —  a  word  or  two  read  at 
random,  an  impression,  only  half  understood,  yet 
the  germ  of  which  had  survived.  Ibsen !  A  prophet 
of  truth,  surely !  He  looked  eagerly  down  the  plac- 
ard for  the  announcements  and  the  prices  of  admis- 
sion. And  then  a  sudden  cold  douche  of  memory 
descended  upon  his  new  enthusiasms.  There  was 
Ellen ! 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  27 


CHAPTER    III 

MR.  ALFRED  BURTOn's  FAMILY 

There  certainly  was  Ellen !  Like  a  man  on  his 
way  to  prison,  Alfred  Burton  took  his  place  in  a 
third-class  carriage  in  his  customary  train  to  Garden 
Green.  Ned  Miles,  who  travelled  in  the  oil  trade, 
came  up  and  smote  him  upon  the  shoulder. 

"  Say,  cocky,  what  have  you  been  doing  to  your- 
self.'* "  he  demanded  in  amazement.  "  Have  you 
robbed  a  bank  and  going  about  in  disguise,  eh? 
Why,  the  missis  won't  know  you !  " 

Burton  shrank  a  little  back  in  his  place.  His  eyes 
seemed  filled  with  some  nameless  distaste  as  he  re- 
turned the  other's  gaze. 

"  I  have  taken  a  dislike  to  my  former  style  of 
dress,"  he  replied  simply,  "  also  to  my  moustache." 

"  Taken  a  dislike  —  Lord  love  a  duck ! "  his 
quondam  friend  exclaimed.  "  Strike  me  blind  if  I 
should  have  known  you !  Taken  a  dislike  to  the  — 
here,  Alf ,  is  this  a  game  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  Burton  answered  quietly.  "  It  is  thd 
truth.  It  is  one  of  those  matters,  I  suppose,"  he 
continued,  "  which  principally  concern  oneself." 


28  THE   DOUBLE    LIFE   OF 

"  No  need  to  get  jumpy  about  it,"  Mr.  Miles  re- 
marked, still  a  little  dazed.  "  Come  in  and  have 
some  farthing  nap  with  the  boys.  They  won't  rec- 
ognize you  in  that  get-up.  We'll  have  a  lark  with 
them." 

Burton  shook  his  head.  Again  he  was  unable  to 
keep  the  distaste  from  his  eyes  or  tone. 

"  Not  to-night,  thank  you." 

The  train  was  just  moving,  so  Miles  was  obliged 
to  hurry  off,  but  at  Garden  Green,  Burton  was  com- 
pelled to  run  the  gauntlet  of  their  cheers  and  mock- 
ery as  he  passed  down  the  platform.  Good  sports 
and  excellent  fellows  he  had  thought  them  yester- 
day. To-day  he  had  no  words  for  them.  He  simply 
knew  that  they  grated  upon  every  nerve  in  his  body 
and  that  he  loathed  them.  For  the  first  time  he 
began  to  be  frightened.  What  was  this  thing  that 
had  happened  to  him.''  How  was  it  possible  for  him 
to  continue  his  daily  life.'' 

As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  the  station,  his  troubles 
began  again.  A  veil  seemed  to  have  been  torn  from 
before  his  eyes.  Just  as  in  London  every  face  into 
which  he  had  looked,  every  building  which  he  had 
passed,  had  seemed  to  him  unfamiliar,  appealing  to 
an  altered  system  of  impressions,  so  here,  during  that 
brief  walk,  a  new  disgust  was  born  in  him.  The 
showy-looking  main  street  with  its  gingerbread 
buildings,  all  new  and  glittering  with  paint,  appalled 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  29 

him.  The  larger  villas  —  self-conscious  types  all 
reeking  with  plaster  and  false  decorations  —  set  him 
shivering.  He  turned  into  his  own  street  and  his 
heart  sank.  Something  had  indeed  touched  his  eyes 
and  he  saw  new  and  terrible  things.  The  row  of 
houses  looked  as  though  they  had  come  out  of  a 
child's  playbox.  They  were  all  untrue,  shoddy,  un- 
inviting. The  waste  space  on  the  other  side  of  the 
unmade  street,  a  repository  for  all  the  rubbish  of 
the  neighborhood,  brought  a  groan  to  his  lips.  He 
stopped  before  the  gate  of  his  own  little  dwelling. 
There  were  yellow  curtains  in  the  window,  tied  back 
with  red  velvet.  Even  with  the  latch  of  the  gate 
in  his  hand,  he  hesitated.  A  child  in  a  spotted  vel- 
veteen suit  and  a  soiled  lace  collar,  who  had  been 
playing  in  the  street,  greeted  him  with  an  amazed 
shout  and  then  ran  on  ahead. 

**  Mummy,  come  and  look  at  Daddy ! "  the  boy 
shrieked.  "  He's  cut  off  all  the  hair  from  his  lip 
and  he's  got  such  funny  clothes  on !  Do  come  and 
look  at  his  hat !  " 

The  child  was  puny,  unprepossessing,  and  dirty. 
Worse  tragedy  than  this.  Burton  knew  it.  The 
woman  who  presently  appeared  to  gaze  at  him  with 
open-mouthed  wonder,  was  pretentiously  and  untidily 
dressed,  with  some  measure  of  good  looks  woefully 
obscured  by  a  hard  and  unsympathetic  expression. 
Burton  knew  these  things  also.     It  flashed  into  his 


30  THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 

mind  as  he  stood  there  that  her  first  attraction  to  him 
had  been  because  she  resembled  his  ill-conceived  idea 
of  an  actress.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  resembled 
much  more  closely  her  cousin,  who  was  a  barmaid. 
Burton  looked  into  the  tragedy  of  his  life  and  shiv- 
ered. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  wonder's  the  meaning  of 
this,  Alfred.?"  his  better  half  demanded.  "What 
are  you  standing  there  for,  looking  all  struck  of  a 
heap.?" 

He  made  no  reply.  Speech,  for  the  moment,  was 
absolutely  impossible.  She  stood  and  stared  at  him, 
her  arms  akimbo,  disapproval  written  in  her  face. 
Her  hair  was  exceedingly  untidy  and  there  was  a 
smut  upon  her  cheek.  A  soiled  lace  collar,  fastened 
with  an  imitation  diamond  brooch,  had  burst  asunder. 

"  What's  come  to  your  moustache  ?  "  she  demanded. 
"  And  why  are  you  dressed  like  —  like  a  house- 
painter  on  a  Sunday  ?  " 

Burton  found  his  first  gleam  of  consolation.  A 
newly-discovered  sense  of  humor  soothed  him  inex- 
plicably. 

"  Sorry  you  don't  like  my  clothes,"  he  replied. 
"  You'll  get  used  to  them." 

"  Get  used  to  them ! "  his  better  half  repeated, 
almost  hysterically.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  are 
going  about  like  that  ?  " 

"  Something  like  it,"  Burton  admitted. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  31 

"  No  silk  hat,  no  tail  coat?  " 

Burton  shook  his  head  gently. 

"  I  trust,"  he  said,  "  that  I  have  finished,  for  the 
present,  at  any  rate,  with  those  most  unsightly  gar- 
ments." 

"  Come  inside,"  Ellen  ordered  briskly. 

They  passed  into  the  little  sitting-room.  Burton 
glanced  around  him  with  a  half-frightened  sense  of 
apprehension.  His  memory,  at  any  rate,  had  not 
played  him  false.  Everything  was  as  bad  —  even 
worse  than  he  had  imagined.  The  suite  of  furniture 
which  was  the  joy  of  his  wife's  heart  had  been,  it 
is  true,  exceedingly  cheap,  but  the  stamped  magenta 
velvet  was  as  crude  in  its  coloring  as  his  own  dis- 
carded tie.  He  looked  at  the  fringed  cloth  upon  the 
table,  the  framed  oleographs  upon  the  wall,  and  he 
was  absolutely  compelled  to  close  his  eyes.  There 
was  not  a  single  thing  anywhere  which  was  not  dis- 
cordant. 

Mrs.  Burton  had  not  yet  finished  with  the  subject 
of  clothes.  The  distaste  upon  her  face  had  rather 
increased.  She  looked  her  husband  up  and  down 
and  her  eyes  grew  bright  with  anger. 

"  Well,  I  did  think,"  she  declared,  vigorously, 
*'  that  I  was  marrying  a  man  who  looked  like  a  gen- 
tleman, at  least!  Do  you  mean  to  say,  Alfred,  that 
you  mean  to  go  into  the  city  like  that  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  Burton  replied.     "  And  Ellen !  " 


32  THE   DOUBLE    LIFE   OF 

"Well?" 

"  Since  we  are  upon  the  subject  of  dress,  may  I 
have  a  few  words?  You  have  given  expression  to 
your  dislikes  quite  freely.  You  will  not  mind  if  I 
do  the  same?  " 

"  Well,  what  have  you  got  to  say?  "  she  demanded, 
belligerently. 

"  I  don't  like  your  bun,"  Burton  said  firmly. 

*'  Don't  like  my  what  ? "  his  wife  shrieked,  her 
hands  flying  to  the  back  of  her  head. 

"  I  don't  like  your  bun  —  false  hair,  or  whatever 
you  call  it,"  Burton  repeated.  "  I  don't  like  that 
brooch  with  the  false  diamonds,  and  if  you  can't 
afford  a  clean  white  blouse,  I'd  wear  a  colored  one." 

Mrs.  Burton's  mouth  was  open  but  for  the  mo- 
ment she  failed  to  express  herself  adequately.  Her 
husband  continued. 

"  Your  skirt  is  fashionable,  I  suppose,  because  it 
is  very  short  and  very  tight,  but  it  makes  you  walk 
like  a  duck,  and  it  leaves  unconcealed  so  much  of 
your  stockings  that  I  think  at  least  you  should  be 
sure  that  they  are  free  from  holes." 

"  You  called  my  skirt  smart  only  yesterday," 
Ellen  gasped,  "  and  I  wasn't  going  out  of  doors  in 
these  stockings." 

"  It  is  just  as  bad  to  wear  them  indoors  or  out- 
doors, whether  any  one  sees  them  or  whether  any 
one  does  not,"  Burton  insisted.     "  Your  own  sense 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  33 

of  self-respect  should  tell  you  that.  Did  you  hap- 
pen, by  the  bye,  to  glance  at  the  boy's  collar  when 
you  put  it  on  ?  " 

"What,  little  Alf  now?"  his  mother  faltered. 
*'  You're  getting  on  to  him  now,  are  you?  " 

*'  I  certainly  should  wish,"  Burton  protested 
mildly,  *'  that  he  was  more  suitably  dressed.  A 
plain  sailor-suit,  or  a  tweed  knickerbocker  suit  with 
a  flannel  collar,  would  be  better  than  those  velveteen 
things  with  that  lace  abomination.  And  why  is  he 
tugging  at  your  skirt  so  ?  " 

"  He  is  ready  to  start,"  Ellen  replied  sharply. 
"  Haven't  forgotten  you're  taking  us  to  the  band, 
have  you?  " 

"  I  had  forgotten  it,"  Burton  admitted,  "  but  I 
am  quite  willing  to  go." 

Ellen  turned  towards  the  stairs. 

*'  Down  in  five  minutes,"  she  announced.  "  I  hope 
you've  finished  all  that  rubbishing  talk.  There's 
some  tea  in  the  tea-pot  on  the  hob,  if  you  want  any. 
Don't  upset  things." 

Burton  drifted  mechanically  into  the  kitchen, 
noting  its  disorder  with  a  new  disapproval.  He  sat 
on  the  edge  of  the  table  for  a  few  moments,  gazing 
helplessly  about  him.  Presently  Ellen  descended  the 
stairs  and  called  to  him.  He  took  up  his  hat  and 
followed  his  wife  and  the  boy  out  of  the  house.  The 
latter  eyed  him  wonderingly. 


34  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

"  Look  at  pa's  hat !  "  he  shouted.     "  Oh,  my !  " 

Ellen  stopped  short  upon  her  way  to  the  gate. 

"  Alfred,"  she  exclaimed,  "  you  don't  mean  to  say 
you're  coming  out  with  us  like  that  —  coming  to  the 
band,  too,  where  we  shall  meet  everyone?  " 

"  Certainly,  my  dear,"  Burton  replied,  placing  the 
object  of  their  remarks  fearlessly  upon  his  head. 
"  You  may  not  be  quite  used  to  it  yet,  but  I  can 
assure  you  that  it  is  far  more  becoming  and  suitable 
than  a  cheap  silk  hat,  especially  for  an  occasion  hke 
the  present." 

Ellen  opened  her  mouth  and  closed  it  again  — 
it  was  perhaps  wise! 

"  Come  on,"  she  said  abruptly.  "  Alfred  wants 
to  hear  the  soldier  music  and  we  are  late  already. 
Take  your  father's  hand." 

They  started  upon  their  pilgrimage.  Burton,  at 
any  rate,  spent  a  miserable  two  hours.  He  hated 
the  stiff,  brand-new  public  garden  in  which  they 
walked,  with  its  stunted  trees,  its  burnt  grass,  its 
artificial  and  weary  flower-beds.  He  hated  the  peo- 
ple who  stood  about  as  they  did,  listening  to  the 
band,  —  the  giggling  girls,  the  callow,  cigarette- 
smoking  youths,  the  dressed  up,  unnatural  replicas 
of  his  own  wife  and  himself,  with  whom  he  was  occa- 
sionally forced  to  hold  futile  conversation.  He 
hated  the  sly  punch  in  the  ribs  from  one  of  his  quon- 
dam companions,  the  artful  murmur  about  getting 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  35 

the  missis  to  look  another  way  and  the  hurried  visit 
to  a  neighboring  public-house,  the  affected  anger 
and  consequent  jokes  which  followed  upon  their  re- 
turn. As  they  walked  homeward,  the  cold  ugliness 
of  it  all  seemed  almost  to  paralyze  his  newly  awa- 
kened senses.  It  was  their  social  evening  of  the 
week,  looked  forward  to  always  by  his  wife,  spoken 
of  cheerfully  by  him  even  last  night,  an  evening  when 
he  might  have  had  to  bring  home  friends  to  supper, 
to  share  a  tin  of  sardines,  a  fragment  of  mutton, 
Dutch  cheese,  and  beer  which  he  himself  would  have 
had  to  fetch  from  the  nearest  public-house.  He 
wiped  his  forehead  and  found  that  it  was  wet.  Then 
Ellen  broke  the  silence. 

"  What  I  should  like  to  know,  Alfred,  is  —  what's 
come  to  you?  "  she  commenced  indignantly.  "  Not 
a  word  have  you  spoken  all  the  evening  —  you  that 
there's  no  holding  generally  with  your  chaff  and 
jokes.  What  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Johnson  must  have 
thought  of  you,  I  can't  imagine,  standing  there  like 
a  stick  when  they  stopped  to  be  civil  for  a  few  min- 
utes, and  behaving  as  though  you  never  even  heard 
their  asking  us  to  go  in  and  have  a  bite  of  supper. 
What  have  we  done,  eh,  little  Alf  and  me.''  You  look 
at  us  as  though  we  had  turned  into  ogres.  Out 
with  it,  my  man.     What's  wrong?  " 

"  I  am  not  —  " 

Burton  stopped  short.     The  lie  of  ill-health  stuck 


36  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

in  his  throat.  He  thirsted  to  tell  the  truth,  but  a 
new  and  gentle  kindliness  kept  him  speechless.  Ellen 
was  beginning  to  get  a  little  frightened. 

"  What  is  it  that's  come  to  you,  Alfred .?  "  she 
again  demanded.  "  Have  you  lost  your  tongue  or 
your  wits  or  what.-*  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  he  answered  truthfully  enough. 

His  manner  was  so  entirely  non-provocative  that 
her  resentment  for  a  moment  dropped. 

"  What's  changed  you  since  yesterday  ?  "  she  per- 
sisted. "  What  is  it  that  you  don't  like  about  us, 
anyway  ?    What  do  you  want  us  to  do  ?  " 

Burton  sighed.  He  would  have  given  a  great  deal 
to  have  been  able  to  prevaricate,  but  he  could  not. 
It  was  the  truth  alone  which  he  could  speak. 

"  I  should  like  you,"  he  said,  "  to  take  down  your 
hair  and  throw  away  all  that  is  not  real,  to  wash 
it  until  it  is  its  natural  color,  to  brush  it  hard, 
and  then  do  it  up  quite  simply,  without  a  net  or 
anything.  Then  I  should  like  you  to  wash  your  face 
thoroughly  in  plain  soap  and  water  and  never  again 
touch  a  powder-puff  or  that  nasty  red  stuff  you  have 
on  your  lips.  I  should  like  you  to  throw  away  those 
fancy  blouses  with  the  imitation  lace,  which  are  ugly 
to  start  with,  and  which  you  can't  afford  to  have 
washed  often  enough,  and  I  should  like  you  to  buy 
some  plain  linen  shirts  and  collars,  a  black  tie,  and 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  37 

a  blue  serge  skirt  made  so  that  you  could  walk  in 
it  naturally." 

Ellen  did  not  at  that  moment  need  any  rouge,  nor 
any  artificial  means  of  lending  brightness  to  her 
eyes.  What  she  really  seemed  to  need  was  something 
to  keep  her  still. 

"  Anything  else  ?  "  she  demanded,  unsteadily. 

*'  Some  thicker  stockings,  or,  if  not  thicker,  stock- 
ings without  that  open-work  stuff  about  them,"  Bur- 
ton continued  earnestly,  warming  now  to  his  task. 
"  You  see,  the  open-work  places  have  all  spread  into 
little  holes,  and  one  can't  help  noticing  it,  especially 
as  your  shoes  are  such  a  bright  yellow.  That  stuff 
that  looks  like  lace  at  the  bottom  of  your  petticoat 
has  got  all  draggled.  I  should  cut  it  off  and  throw 
it  away.  Then  I'd  empty  all  that  scent  down  the 
drain,  and  wear  any  sort  of  gloves  except  those  kid 
ones  you  have  had  cleaned  so  often." 

"And  my  hat?"  she  asked  with  trembling  lips. 
"  What  about  my  hat  ?     Don't  leave  that  out." 

"  Burn  it,"  he  replied  eagerly,  "  feathers  and  all. 
They've  been  dyed,  haven't  they.''  more  than  once, 
and  I  think  their  present  color  is  their  worst.  It 
must  be  very  uncomfortable  to  wear,  too,  with  all 
those  pins  sticking  out  of  it.  Colored  glass  they 
are  made  of,  aren't  they?  They  are  not  pretty,  you 
know.     I'll  buy  you  a  hat,  if  you  like,  a  plain  felt 


38  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE   OF 

or  straw,  with  just  a  few  flowers.  You'll  look  as 
nice  again." 

"Finished?" 

He  looked  at  her  apprehensively. 

**  There  are  one  or  two  things  about  the  house  —  " 
he  commenced. 

Ellen  began  to  talk  —  simply  because  she  was  un- 
able to  keep  silent  any  longer.  The  longer  she 
talked,  the  more  eloquent  she  became.  When  she 
had  finished.  Burton  had  disappeared.  She  followed 
him  to  the  door,  and  again  to  the  gate.  Her  voice 
was  still  ringing  in  his  ears  as  he  turned  the  comer 
of  the  street. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  39 


CHAPTER    IV 

A    SHOCK    TO    ME.    WADDINGTON 

Punctually  at  nine  o'clock  on  the  following 
morning,  Alfred  Burton,  after  a  night  spent  in  a 
very  unsatisfactory  lodging-house,  hung  up  his  gray 
Homburg  on  the  peg  consecrated  to  the  support  of 
his  discarded  silk  hat,  and  prepared  to  plunge  into 
his  work.  The  office-boy,  who  had  been  stricken 
dumb  at  his  senior's  appearance,  recovered  himself 
at  last  sufficiently  for  speech, 

"  My  eye !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Whose  clothes  have 
jou  been  stealing.?  What  have  you  been  up  to,  eh? 
Committing  a  burglary  or  a  murder?  " 

Burton  shook  his  head. 

**  Nothing  of  the  sort,"  he  replied  pleasantly. 
**  The  fact  is  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  my  late 
style  of  dress,  as  you  yourself  somewhat  eloquently 
pointed  out  yesterday,  was  unbecoming." 

The  boy  seemed  a  little  dazed. 

**  You  look  half  way  between  a  toff  and  an  art- 
ist ! "  he  declared.  "  What's  it  all  about,  anyway  ? 
Have  you  gone  crazy  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  Burton  replied.     "  I  rather 


40  THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

think  I  have  come  to  my  senses.  Have  you  got  those 
last  furniture  accounts?  " 

"  No  use  starting  on  that  job,"  Clarkson  informed 
him,  genially.  "  The  guvnor  wants  you  down  at  the 
salesrooms,  you've  got  to  clerk  for  him." 

Burton  looked  very  blank  indeed.  A  flood  of  un- 
pleasant recollections  assailed  liim.  He  had  lied  a 
good  deal  in  the  letting  of  houses,  but  he  had  lied 
more  still  in  the  auction  room.  And  to-day's  sale! 
He  knew  all  about  it!  He  knew  a  great  deal  more 
than  under  the  circumstances  it  was  wise  for  him 
to  know! 

"  I  quite  forgot,"  he  said  slowly,  "  that  there  was 
a  sale  to-day.  I  don't  suppose  Mr.  Waddington 
would  let  you  take  my  place,  Clarkson  ?  " 

"  Not  on  your  life !  "  the  boy  replied.  "  I've  got 
to  stay  here  and  boss  the  show.  You'd  better  hurry 
along,  too.  It's  Thursday  morning  and  you  know 
the  people  come  in  early.  Lord,  what  a  guy  you 
look ! " 

Very  slowly  and  very  reluctantly  Burton  made  his 
way  through  the  gloomy  warehouse  and  into  the 
salesrooms,  which  were  approached  from  the  street 
by  a  separate  entrance.  He  knew  exactly  what  was 
before  him  and  he  realized  that  it  must  be  the  end. 
Mr.  Waddington,  who  had  not  yet  mounted  the  ros- 
trum, saw  him  come  in,  stared  at  him  for  several 
moments  in  his  gray  clothes  and  Homburg  hat,  and 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  41 

turned  away  to  spit  upon  the  floor.  A  woman  with 
a  catalogue  in  her  hand  —  evidently  an  intending 
purchaser  —  gripped  Burton  by  the  arm. 

"  I  say,  mister,  you're  the  auctioneer's  clerk, 
aren't  you  ?  " 

"  I  am,"  he  admitted. 

"  About  that  h'oil  painting,  now  —  the  one  of 
Gladstone.  My  old  man's  fair  dotty  on  Gladstone 
and  it's  his  birthday  to-morrow.  If  it's  all  right,  I 
thought  I  might  make  him  a  present.  It  says  in 
the  catalogue  *  Artist  unknown.'  I  suppose,  as  it's 
a  real  oil  painting,  it's  worth  a  bit,  isn't  it.''  " 

**  It  is  not  an  oil  painting  at  all,"  Burton  said 
quietly. 

"  Wot  yer  mean.?  "  the  woman  demanded.  "  Here 
you  are  —  lot  number  17  — '  Interesting  oil  paint- 
ing of  the  Right  Honorable  W.  E.  Gladstone,  artist 
unknown.'  " 

Burton  thrust  the  catalogue  away  from  him  with 
a  sigh. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  admitted,  "  that  the  description 
can  scarcely  be  said  to  be  entirely  accurate.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  it  is  a  colored  lithograph,  very  clev- 
erly done  but  quite  valueless.  I  dare  say  you  would 
find  that  there  are  thousands  of  them  exactly  like  it." 

The  woman  stared  at  him  suspiciously. 

"  Why,  your  guvnor's  just  told  me  that  the  re- 
serve upon  it's  two  guineas ! "  she  exclaimed. 


42  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

"  Mr.  Waddington  must  have  made  a  mistake," 
Burton  replied,  with  a  sinking  heart. 

"  Look  here,"  the  woman  insisted,  "  what  is  it 
worth,  anyway.?  " 

"  A  few  pence  for  the  frame,"  Burton  answered, 
hurrying  off. 

The  woman  drew  her  shawl  about  her  shoulders, 
threw  her  catalogue  upon  the  floor  and  made  her 
way  towards  the  door. 

"  Not  going  to  stay  here  to  be  swindled ! "  she 
declared  loudly,  looking  around  her.  "  Colored 
lithograph,  indeed,  and  put  down  in  the  catalogue 
as  an  interesting  oil  painting!  They  must  think 
us  folks  don't  know  nothing.  Cheating's  the  word, 
I  say  —  cheating !  " 

The  woman's  eye  met  the  eye  of  Mr.  Waddington 
as  she  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  doorway  before 
taking  her  departure.  She  raised  her  fist  and  shook 
it. 

"  Bah !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  yourself !    You  and  your  h'oil  paintings !  " 

Mr.  Waddington  was  too  far  off  to  hear  her  words 
but  the  character  of  her  farewell  was  unmistakable! 
He  glanced  suspiciously  towards  his  chief  clerk. 
Burton,  however,  had  at  that  moment  been  button- 
holed by  a  fidgety  old  gentleman  who  desired  to  ask 
him  a  few  questions. 

"  I  am  a  little  puzzled,  sir,"  the  old  gentleman 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  43 

said,  confidentially,  "  about  the  absolute  authenticity 
of  this  Chippendale  suite  —  lot  number  101  in  the 
catalogue.  This  sale  is  —  er  — •  um  —  advertised  as 
being  —  "  the  old  gentleman  turned  over  the  pages 
of  the  catalogue  quickly  —  "a  sale  of  the  effects  of 
the  late  Doctor  Transome.     That's  so,  eh?  " 

"  I  believe  the  announcement  is  to  that  effect,'* 
Burton  confessed,  hesitatingly. 

*'  Quite  so,"  the  little  old  gentleman  continued. 
"  Now  I  knew  Dr.  Transome  intimately,  and  he  was, 
without  the  slightest  doubt,  a  rare  judge  of  old  fur- 
niture. I  wouldn't  mind  following  him  anywhere, 
or  accepting  his  judgment  about  anything.  He  was 
very  set  upon  not  having  anything  in  his  house  that 
was  not  genuine.  Now  under  any  other  circum- 
stances, mind  you,  I  should  have  had  my  doubts 
about  that  suite,  but  if  you  can  assure  me  that  it 
came  from  Dr.  Transome's  house,  why,  there's  no 
more  to  be  said  about  it.     I'm  a  bidder." 

Burton  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  declared,  "  but  the  frontispiece 
of  the  catalogue  is  certainly  a  little  misleading.  To 
tell  you  the  truth,  sir,  there  are  very  few  articles 
here  from  Dr.  Transome's  house  at  all.  The  bulk 
of  his  effects  were  distributed  among  relatives, 
WTiat  we  have  here  is  a  portion  of  the  kitchen  and 
servant's  bedroom  furniture." 

"  Then  where  on  earth  did  all  this  dining-room 


44  THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

and  library  furniture  come  from?  "  the  old  gentle- 
man demanded. 

Burton  looked  around  him  and  back  again  at  his 
questioner.  There  was  no  evading  the  matter,  how- 
ever. 

"  The  great  majority  of  it,"  Burton  admitted, 
*'  has  been  sent  in  to  us  for  sale  from  dealers  and 
manufacturers." 

The  little  old  gentleman  was  annoyed.  Instead 
of  being  grateful,  as  he  ought  to  have  been,  he  vis- 
ited his  annoyance  upon  Burton,  which  was  unrea- 
sonable. 

"  Deliberate  swindling,  sir  —  that's  what  I  call 
it,"  he  proclaimed,  rolling  up  the  catalogue  and 
striking  the  palm  of  his  hand  with  it.  "  All  the 
way  from  Camberwell  I've  come,  entirely  on  the 
strength  of  what  turns  out  to  be  a  misrepresenta- 
tion. There's  the  bus  fare  there  and  back  —  six- 
pence, mind  you  —  and  a  wasted  morning.  Who's 
going  to  recompense  me,  I  should  like  to  know.^"  I'm 
not  made  of  sixpences." 

Burton's  hand  slipped  into  his  pocket.  The  little 
old  gentleman  sniffed. 

"  You  needn't  insult  me,  young  fellow,"  he  de- 
clared. "  I've  a  friend  or  two  here  and  I'll  set  about 
letting  them  know  the  truth." 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word.  The  woman  who  had 
departed   had    also    found   her   sympathizers.      Mr. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  45 

Waddington  watched  the  departure  of  a  Httle  stream 
of  people  with  a  puzzled  frown. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  them  all  ?  "  he  muttered. 
"  Come  here,  Burton." 

Burton,  who  had  been  standing  a  little  in  the 
background,  endeavoring  to  escape  further  observa- 
tion until  the  commencement  of  the  sale,  obeyed  his 
master's  summons  promptly. 

"  Can't  reckon  things  up  at  all,"  Mr.  Waddington 
confided.  "  Why  aren't  you  round  and  amongst 
'em.  Burton,  eh?  You're  generally  such  a  good 
'un  at  rubbing  it  into  them.  Why,  the  only  two 
people  I've  seen  you  talk  to  this  morning  have  left 
the  place!    What's  wrong  with  you,  man?  " 

"  I  only  wish  I  knew,"  Burton  replied,  fervently. 

Mr.  Waddingon  scratched  his  chin. 

"What's  the  meaning  of  those  clothes,  eh?"  he 
demanded.  "  You've  lost  your  appearance,  Burton 
—  that's  what  you've  done.  Not  even  a  silk  hat  on 
a  sale  day !  " 

"  I'm  sorry,"  Burton  answered.  "  To  tell  you 
the  truth,  I  had  forgotten  that  it  was  a  sale 
day." 

Mr.  Waddington  looked  curiously  at  his  assistant, 
and  the  longer  he  looked,  the  more  convinced  he 
became  that  Burton  was  not  himself. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose  you  can't  always 
be  gassing  if  you're  not  feeling  on  the  spot.     Let's 


46  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

start  the  sale  before  any  more  people  leave.  Come 
on." 

Mr.  Waddington  led  the  way  to  the  rostrum. 
Burton,  with  a  sinking  heart,  and  a  premonition  of 
evil,  took  the  place  by  his  side.  The  first  few  lots 
were  put  up  and  sold  without  event,  but  trouble  came 
with  lot  number  13. 

"  Lot  number  13  —  a  magnificent  oak  bed- 
room —  "  the  auctioneer  began.  "  Eh  ?  What  ? 
What  is  it.  Burton.?" 

"  Stained  deal,"  Burton  interrupted,  in  a  pained 
but  audible  whisper.  "  Stained  deal  bedroom  suite, 
sir  —  not  oak." 

Mr.  Waddington  seemed  about  to  choke.  He 
ignored  the  interruption,  however,  and  went  on  with 
his  description  of  the  lot. 

"  A  magnificent  oak  bedroom  suite,  complete  and 
as  good  as  new,  been  in  use  for  three  Aveeks  only. 
The  deceased  gentleman  whose  effects  we  are  dis- 
posing of,  and  who  is  known  to  have  been  a  famous 
collector  of  valuable  furniture,  told  me  himself  that 
he  found  it  at  a  farmhouse  in  Northumberland. 
Look  at  it,  ladies  and  gentlemen.  Look  at  it.  It'll 
bear  inspection.  Shall  we  say  forty-five  guineas  for 
a  start?  " 

Mr.  Waddington  paused  expectantly.  Burton 
leaned  over  from  his  place. 

"  The  suite  Is  of  stained  deal,"  he  said  distinctly. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  47 

*'  It  has  been  very  cleverly  treated  by  a  new  process 
to  make  it  resemble  old  oak,  but  if  you  examine  it 
closely  you  will  see  that  what  I  say  is  correct.  I  re- 
gret that  there  has  been  an  unfortunate  error  in  the 
description." 

For  a  moment  there  was  a  tumult  of  voices  and 
some  laughter.  Mr.  Waddington  was  red  in  the 
face.  The  veins  about  his  temples  were  swollen  and 
the  hammer  in  his  hand  showed  a  desire  to  descend 
on  his  clerk's  head.  A  small  dealer  had  pulled  out 
one  of  the  drawers  and  was  examining  it  closely. 

"  Stained  deal  it  is,  Mr.  Auctioneer,"  he  an- 
nounced, standing  up.  "  Call  a  spade  a  spade  and 
have  done  with  it !  " 

There  was  a  little  mingled  laughter  and  cheers. 
Mr.  Waddington  swallowed  his  anger  and  went  on 
with  the  sale. 

"  Call  it  what  you  like,"  he  declared,  indulgently. 
"  Our  clients  send  us  in  these  things  with  their  own 
description  and  we  haven't  time  to  verify  them  all 
—  not  likely.  One  bedroom  suite,  then  —  there 
you  are.  Now  then,  Burton,  you  blithering  idiot," 
he  muttered  savagely  under  his  breath,  "  if  you  can't 
hold  your  tongue  I'll  kick  you  out  of  your  seat! 
Thirty  pounds  shall  we  say  ?  "  he  continued,  leaning 
forward  persuasively.  "  Twenty  pounds,  then  ?  The 
price  makes  no  difference  to  me,  only  do  let's  get 
on." 


48  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

The  suite  in  question  was  knocked  down  at  eight 
pounds  ten.  The  sale  proceeded,  but  bidders  were 
few.  A  spirit  of  distrust  seemed  to  be  in  the  air. 
Most  of  the  lots  were  knocked  down  to  dummy  bid- 
ders, which  meant  that  they  were  returned  to  the 
manufacturers  on  the  following  day.  The  frown 
on  Mr.  Waddington's  face  deepened. 

"  See  what  you've  done,  you  silly  j  ackass ! "  he 
whispered  to  his  assistant,  during  a  momentary 
pause  in  the  proceedings.  "  There's  another  little 
knot  of  people  left.  Here's  old  Sherwell  coming  in, 
half  drunk.  Now  hold  your  tongue  if  you  can.  I'll 
have  him  for  the  dining-room  suite,  sure.  If  you 
interfere  this  time,  I'll  break  your  head.  .  .  .  We 
come  now,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  to  the  most  impor- 
tant lot  of  the  day.  Mr.  Sherwell,  sir,  I  am  glad 
to  see  you.  You're  just  in  time.  There's  a  dining- 
room  suite  coming  on,  the  only  one  I  have  to  offer, 
and  such  a  suite  as  is  very  seldom  on  the  market. 
One  table,  two  sideboards,  and  twelve  chairs.  Now, 
Mr.  Sherwell,  sir,  look  at  the  table  for  yourself. 
You're  a  judge  and  I  am  willing  to  take  your  word. 
Did  you  ever  see  a  finer,  a  more  magnificent  piece 
of  mahogany?  There  is  no  deception  about  it. 
Feel  it,  look  at  it,  test  it  in  any  way  you  like.  I 
tell  you,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  this  is  a  lot  I  have 
examined  myself,  and  if  I  could  afford  it  I'd  have 
bought  it  privately.     I  made  a  bid  but  the  executors 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  49 

wouldn't  listen  to  me.  Now  then,  ladies  and  gentle- 
men, make  me  an  offer  for  the  suite." 

"  Fine  bit  o'  wood,"  the  half-intoxicated  furniture 
dealer  pronounced,  leaning  up  against  the  table  and 
examining  it  with  clumsy  gravity.  "  A  genuine  bit 
o'  stuff." 

"  You're  right,  Mr.  Sherwell,"  the  auctioneer 
agreed,  impressively.  "  It  is  a  unique  piece  of  wood, 
sir  —  a  unique  piece  of  wood,  ladies  and  gentlemen. 
Now  how  much  shall  we  say  for  the  suite.''  Lot  num- 
ber 85  —  twelve  chairs,  the  table  you  are  leaning  up 
against,  two  sideboards,  and  butler's  tray.  Shall  we 
say  ninety  guineas,  Mr.  Sherwell.''  Will  you  start 
the  bidding  in  a  reasonable  manner  and  make  it  a 
hundred?  " 

*'  Fifty ! "  Mr.  Sherwell  declared,  striking  the 
table  with  his  fist.    "  I  say  fifty !  " 

Mr.  Waddington  for  a  moment  looked  pained. 
He  laid  down  the  hammer  and  glanced  around 
through  the  audience,  as  though  appealing  for  their 
sympathy.  Then  he  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Fi- 
nally, he  took  up  his  hammer  again  and  sighed. 

'*  Very  well,  then,"  he  consented,  in  a  resigned 
tone,  "  we'll  start  it  at  fifty,  then.  I  don't  know 
what's  the  matter  with  every  one  to-day,  but  I'm 
giving  you  a  turn,  Mr.  Sherwell,  and  I  shall  knock 
it  down  quick.  Fifty  guineas  is  bid  for  lot  number 
85.    Going  at  fifty  guineas !  '* 


50  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

Burton  rose  once  more  to  his  feet. 

"  Does  Mr.  Sherwell  understand,"  he  asked,  "  that 
the  remainder  of  the  suite  is  different  entirely  from 
the  table?" 

Mr.  Sherwell  stared  at  the  speaker,  shifted  his  feet 
a  little  unsteadily  and  gripped  the  table. 

"  Certainly  I  don't,"  he  replied,  —  "  don't  under- 
stand anything  of  the  sort!  Where  is  the  rest  of 
the  suite,  young  man.''  " 

"  Just  behind  you,  sir,"  Burton  pointed  out,  "  up 
against  the  wall." 

Mr.  Sherwell  turned  and  looked  at  a  miserable  col- 
lection of  gimcrack  articles  piled  up  against  the  wall 
behind  him.     Then  he  consulted  the  catalogue. 

"  One  mahogany  dining-table,  two  sideboards,  one 
butler's  tray,  twelve  chairs.  These  the  chairs.''"  he 
asked,  lifting  one  up. 

"  Those  are  the  chairs,  sir,"  Burton  admitted. 

Mr.  Sherwell,  with  a  gesture  of  contempt,  replaced 
upon  the  floor  the  one  which  he  had  detached  from 
its  fellows.     He  leaned  unsteadily  across  the  table. 

"  A  dirty  trick,  Mr.  Auctioneer,"  he  declared. 
"  Shan't  come  here  any  more !  Shan't  buy  anything ! 
Ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself.    Yah !  " 

Mr.  Sherwell,  feeling  his  way  carefully  out,  made 
an  impressive  if  not  very  dignified  exit.  Mr.  Wad- 
dington  gripped  his  clerk  by  the  arm. 

"  Burton,"  he  hissed  under  his  breath,  "  get  out 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  51 

of  this  before  I  throw  you  down !  Never  let  me  see 
your  idiot  face  again !  If  you're  at  the  office  when 
I  come  back,, I'll  kill  you!  I'll  clerk  myself.  Be  off 
with  you ! " 

Burton  rose  quietly  and  departed.  As  he  left 
the  room,  he  heard  Mr.  Waddington  volubly  explain- 
ing that  no  deception  was  intended  and  that  the 
catalogue  spoke  for  itself.  Then  he  passed  out  into 
the  street  and  drew  a  little  breath  of  relief.  The 
shackles  had  fallen  away.  He  was  a  free  man. 
Messrs.  Waddington  &  Forbes  had  finished  with 
him. 


52  THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 


CHAPTER   V 

bukton's  new  life 

Burton  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  in  most  delight- 
ful fashion.  He  took  the  Tube  to  South  Kensington 
Museum,  where  he  devoted  himself  for  several  hours 
to  the  ecstatic  appreciation  of  a  small  section  of  its 
treasures.  He  lunched  off  some  fruit  and  tea  and 
bread  and  butter  out  in  the  gardens,  wandering 
about  afterwards  among  the  flower-beds  and  paying 
especial  and  delighted  attention  to  the  lilac  trees 
beyond  the  Memorial.  Towards  evening  he  grew 
depressed.  The  memory  of  Ellen,  of  little  Alfred, 
and  his  gingerbread  villa,  became  almost  like  a  night- 
mare to  him.  And  then  the  light  came!  His  great 
resolution  was  formed.  With  beating  heart  he 
turned  to  a  stationer's  shop,  bought  a  sheet  of  paper 
and  an  envelope,  borrowed  a  pen  and  wrote: 

My  Dear  Ellen, 

I  am  not  coming  home  for  a  short  time.  As  you 
remarked,  there  is  something  the  matter  with  me. 
I  don't  know  what  it  is.    Perhaps  in  a  few  days  I  shall 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  53 

find  out.    I  shall  send  your  money  as  usual  on  Satur- 
day, and  hope  that  you  and  the  boy  will  continue  well. 
From  your  husband, 

Alfred  Burton. 

Burton  sighed  a  long  sigh  of  intense  relief  as  he 
folded  up  and  addressed  this  epistle.  Then  he 
bought  four  stamps  and  sent  it  home.  He  was  a 
free  man.  He  had  three  pounds  fifteen  in  his  pocket, 
a  trifle  of  money  in  the  savings-bank,  no  situation, 
and  a  wife  and  son  to  support.  The  position  was 
serious  enough,  yet  never  for  a  moment  could  he 
regard  it  without  a  new  elasticity  of  spirit  and  a 
certain  reckless  optimism,  the  source  of  which  he 
did  not  in  the  least  understand.  He  was  to  learn 
before  long,  however,  that  moods  and  their  resulting 
effect  upon  the  spirit  were  part  of  the  penalty  which 
he  must  pay  for  the  greater  variety  of  his  new  life. 

He  took  a  tiny  bedroom  somewhere  Westminster 
way  —  a  room  in  a  large,  solemn-looking  house,  de- 
cayed and  shabby,  but  still  showing  traces  of  its 
former  splendor.  That  night  he  saw  an  Ibsen  play 
from  the  front  row  of  a  deserted  gallery,  and  after- 
wards, in  melancholy  mood,  he  walked  homeward 
along  the  Embankment  by  the  moonlight.  For  the 
first  time  in  life  he  had  come  face  to  face  with  a 
condition  of  which  he  had  had  no  previous  experi- 
ence —  the  condition  of  Intellectual  pessimism.  He 
was  depressed  because  in  this  new  and  more  spon- 


54  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

taneous  world,  so  full  of  undreamed-of  beauties,  so 
exquisitely  stimulating  to  his  new  powers  of  appre- 
ciation, he  had  found  something  which  he  did  not 
understand.  Truth  for  the  first  time  had  seemed 
unpleasant,  not  only  in  its  effects  but  In  itself.  The 
problem  was  beyond  him.  Nevertheless,  he  pulled  his 
bed  up  to  the  window,  from  which  he  could  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  varied  lights  of  the  city,  and  fell 
asleep. 

In  the  morning  he  decided  to  seek  for  a  situation. 
A  very  reasonable  instinct  led  him  to  avoid  all  such 
houses  as  Messrs.  Waddington  &  Forbes.  He  made 
his  way  instead  to  the  offices  of  a  firm  who  were 
quite  at  the  top  of  their  profession.  A  junior  part- 
ner accorded  him  a  moment's  interview.  He  was 
civil  but  to  the  point. 

"  There  is  no  opening  whatever  in  this  firm,"  he 
declared,  "  for  any  one  who  has  been  in  the  employ- 
ment of  Messrs.  Waddington  &  Forbes.  Good  mom- 
ing!" 

On  the  doorstep.  Burton  ran  into  the  arms  of 
Mr.  Lynn,  who  recognized  him  at  once. 

*'  Say,  young  man,"  he  exclaimed,  holding  out  his 
hand,  "  I  am  much  obliged  for  that  recommendation 
of  yours  to  these  people!  I  have  taken  a  house  in 
Connaught  Place  —  a  real  nice  house  it  is,  too. 
Come  and  see  us  —  number  17.  The  wife  and 
daughters  land  to-morrow." 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  55 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  Burton  answered.  "  I 
am  glad  you  are  fixed  up  comfortably." 

Mr.  Lynn  laid  his  hand  upon  the  young  man's 
shoulder.  He  looked  at  him  curiously.  He  was  an 
observant  person  and  much  interested  in  his  fellow- 
creatures. 

"  Kind  of  change  in  you,  isn't  there  ?  "  he  asked, 
in  a  puzzled  manner.  "  I  scarcely  recognized  you 
at  first." 

Burton  made  no  reply.  The  conventional  false- 
hood which  rose  to  his  lips,  died  away  before  it  was 
uttered. 

"  Look  here,"  Mr.  Lynn  continued,  "  you  take  a 
word  of  advice  from  me.  You  chuck  those  people, 
Waddington  &  Forbes.  They're  wrong  'uns  — 
won't  do  you  a  bit  of  good.  Get  another  job.  So 
long,  and  don't  forget  to  look  us  up." 

Mr.  Lynn  passed  on  his  way  into  the  office.  He 
ran  into  the  junior  partner,  who  greeted  him  warmly. 

*'  Say,  do  you  know  that  young  man  who's  just 
gone  out.?  "  the  former  inquired. 

The  junior  partner  shook  his  head. 

«  Never  seen  him  before,"  he  replied.  "  He  came 
here  looking  for  a  job." 

"Is  that  so?"  Mr.  Lynn  asked  with  interest. 
*'  Well,  I  hope  you  gave  it  to  him  ?  " 

Young  Mr.  Miller  shook  his  head. 

"  He  came  from  the  wrong  school  for  us,"  he  de- 


56  THE   DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

clared.  "  Regular  thieves,  the  people  he  was  with. 
By  the  bye,  didn't  they  nearly  let  you  that  death- 
trap of  old  Lady  Idlemay's  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  he  happens  to  be  just  the  young  man," 
Mr.  Lynn  asserted,  removing  the  cigar  from  his 
mouth,  "  who  prevented  my  taking  it,  or  at  any  rate 
having  to  part  with  a  handsome  deposit.  I  was  sent 
down  there  with  him  and  at  first  he  cracked  it  up 
like  a  real  hustler.  He  got  me  so  fixed  that  I  had 
practically  made  up  my  mind  and  was  ready  to  sign 
any  reasonable  agreement.  Then  he  suddenly  seemed 
to  turn  round.  He  looked  me  straight  in  the  face 
and  told  me  about  the  typhoid  and  all  of  it,  ex- 
plained that  it  wasn't  the  business  of  the  firm  to  let 
houses  likely  to  interest  me,  and  wound  up  by  giving 
me  your  name  and  address  and  recommending  me  to 
come  to  you." 

*'  You  surprise  me  very  much  Indeed,"  Mr.  Miller 
admitted.  "  Under  the  circumstances,  it  is  scarcely 
to  be  wondered  at  that  he  is  out  of  employment. 
Old  Waddington  wouldn't  have  much  use  for  a  man 
like  that." 

"  I  shouldn't  be  surprised,"  Mr.  Ljmn  remarked 
thoughtfully,  "  if  it  was  through  my  affair  that 
he  got  the  sack.  Couldn't  you  do  something  for 
him,  Mr.  Miller  —  to  oblige  me,  eh  ?  " 

"  If  he  calls  again,"  Mr.  Miller  promised,  "  I  will 
do  my  best." 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  57 

But  Burton  did  not  call  again.  He  made  various 
efforts  to  obtain  a  situation  in  other  directions,  with- 
out the  slightest  result.  Then  he  gave  it  up.  He 
became  a  wanderer  about  London,  one  of  her  chil- 
dren who  Avatched  her  with  thoughtful  eyes  at  all 
times  and  hours  of  the  day  and  night.  He  saw  the 
pink  dawn  glimmer  through  the  trees  in  St.  James's 
Park.  He  saw  the  bridges  empty,  the  smoke-stained 
buildings  deserted  by  their  inhabitants,  with  St. 
Paul's  in  the  background  like  a  sentinel  watching 
over  the  sleeping  world.  He  heard  the  crash  and 
roar  of  life  die  away  and  he  watched  like  an  anxious 
prophet  while  the  city  slept.  He  looked  upon  the 
stereotyped  horrors  of  the  Embankment,  vitalized 
and  actual  to  him  now  in  the  light  of  his  new  under- 
standing. He  wandered  with  the  first  gleam  of  light 
among  the  flower-beds  of  the  Park,  sniffing  with  joy 
at  the  late  hyacinths,  revelling  in  the  cool,  sweet 
softness  of  the  unpolluted  air.  Then  he  listened  to 
the  awakening,  to  the  birth  of  the  day.  He  heard 
it  from  the  bridges,  from  London  Bridge  and  West- 
minster Bridge,  over  which  thundered  the  great  vans 
fresh  from  the  country,  on  their  way  to  Covent  Gar- 
den. He  stood  in  front  of  the  Mansion  House  and 
watched  the  thin,  black  stream  of  the  earliest  comers 
grow  into  a  surging,  black-coated  torrent.  There 
were  things  which  made  him  sorry  and  there  were 
things  which  made  him  glad.      On  the  whole,  how- 


58  THE   DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

ever,  his  isolated  contemplation  of  what  for  so  long 
he  had  taken  as  a  matter  of  course  depressed  him. 
Life  was  unutterably  and  intensely  selfish.  Every 
little  unit  in  that  seething  mass  was  so  entirely,  so 
strangely  self-centered.  None  of  them  had  any  real 
love  or  friendliness  for  the  millions  who  toiled  around 
them,  no  one  seemed  to  have  time  to  take  his  eyes 
from  his  own  work  and  his  own  interests.  Burton 
became  more  and  more  depressed  as  the  days  passed. 
Then  he  closed  his  eyes  and  tried  an  antidote.  He 
abandoned  this  study  of  his  fellow-creatures  and 
plunged  once  more  into  the  museums,  sated  himself 
with  the  eternal  beauties,  and  came  out  to  resume 
his  place  amid  the  tumultuous  throng  with  rested 
nerves  and  a  beatific  smile  upon  his  lips.  It  mattered 
so  little,  his  welfare  of  to-day  or  to-morrow  — 
whether  he  went  hungry  or  satisfied  to  bed!  The 
other  things  were  in  his  heart.     He  saw  the  truth. 

One  day  he  met  his  late  employer.  Mr.  Wad- 
dington  was  not,  in  his  way,  an  ill-natured  man,  and 
he  stopped  short  upon  the  pavement.  Burton's  new 
suit  was  not  wearing  well.  It  showed  signs  of  ex- 
posure to  the  weather.  The  young  man  himself  was 
thin  and  pale.  It  was  not  for  Mr.  Waddington  to 
appreciate  the  soft  brilliance  of  his  eyes,  the  altered 
curves  of  his  lips.  From  his  intensely  practical 
point  of  view,  his  late  employee  was  certainly  in  low 
water. 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  59 

"  Hullo,  Burton ! "  he  exclaimed,  coming  to  a 
standstill  and  taking  the  pipe  from  his  mouth. 

"  How  do  you  do,  sir?  "  Burton  replied,  civilly. 

"  Getting  on  all  right,  eh  ?  " 

*'  Very  nicely  indeed,  thank  you,  sir." 

Mr.  Waddington  grunted. 

"  Hm !    You  don't  look  like  it !     Got  a  job  yet.?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

**  Then  how  the  devil  can  you  be  getting  on  at 
all.?  "  Mr.  Waddington  inquired. 

Burton  smiled  quite  pleasantly. 

"  It  does  seem  queer,  sir,"  he  admitted.  "  I  said 
that  I  was  getting  on  all  right  because  I  am  con- 
tented and  happy.  That  is  the  chief  thing  after  all, 
isn't  it?" 

Mr.  Waddington  opened  his  mouth  and  closed  it 
again. 

"  I  wish  I  could  make  out  what  the  devil  it  was 
that  happened  to  you,"  he  said.  "  Why,  you  used 
to  be  as  smart  as  they  make  'em,  a  regular  nipper 
after  business.  I  expected  you'd  be  after  me  for 
a  partnership  before  long,  and  I  expect  I'd  have 
had  to  give  it  you.  And  then  you  went  clean  dotty. 
I  shall  never  forget  that  day  at  the  sale,  when  you 
began  telling  people  everything  it  wasn't  good  for 
them  to  know." 

"  You  mean  that  it  wasn't  good  for  us  for  them 
to  know,"  Burton  corrected  gently. 


6o  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

Mr.  Waddington  laughed.  He  had  a  large 
amount  of  easy  good-humor  and  he  was  always 
ready  to  laugh. 

"  You  haven't  lost  your  wits,  I  see,"  he  declared. 
"  What  was  it?  Did  you  by  any  chance  get  re- 
ligion, Burton?  " 

The  young  man  shook  his  head. 

"  Not  particularly,  sir,"  he  replied.  "  By  the  bye, 
you  owe  me  four  days'  money.  Would  it  be  quite 
convenient  — ?  " 

"  You  shall  have  it,"  Mr.  Waddington  declared, 
thrusting  his  hand  into  liis  trousers  pocket.  *'  I 
can't  aiford  it,  for  things  are  going  badly  with  me. 
Here  it  is,  though.  Thirty-four  shillings  —  that's 
near  enough.     Anything  else?  " 

"  There  is  one  other  thing,"  Burton  said  slowly. 
**  It  is  rather  a  coincidence,  sir,  that  we  should  have 
met  just  here.  I  see  that  you  have  been  into  Idle- 
may  House.  I  wonder  whether  you  would  lend  me 
the  keys?  I  will  return  them  to  the  office,  with 
pleasure,  but  I  should  very  much  like  to  go  in  my- 
self for  a  tew  minutes." 

Mr.  Waddington  stared  at  his  late  employee, 
thoroughly  puzzled. 

"  If  you  aren't  a  caution  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  What 
the  mischief  do  you  want  to  go  in  there  for?  " 

Burton  smiled. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  if  that  little  room  where  the 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  6i 

old  Egyptian  died  has  been  disturbed  since  I  was 
there,  sir." 

Mr.  Waddington  hesitated.  Then  he  turned  and 
led  the  way. 

*'  I'd  forgotten  all  about  that,"  he  said.  "  Come 
along,  I'll  go  in  with  you." 

They  crossed  the  road,  ascended  the  steps,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  they  were  inside  the  house.  The 
place  smelt  very  musty  and  uninhabited.  Burton 
delicately  avoided  the  subject  of  its  being  still  unlet. 
The  little  chamber  on  the  right  of  the  hall  was  as 
dark  as  ever.  Burton  felt  his  heart  beat  quickly 
as  a  little  waft  of  familiar  perfume  swept  out  to 
him  at  the  opening  of  the  door.  Mr.  Waddington 
struck  a  match  and  held  it  over  his  head. 

"  So  this  is  the  room,"  he  remarked.  "  Dashed 
if  I've  ever  been  in  it !  It  wants  cleaning  out  and 
fumigating  badly.     What's  this  ?  " 

He  picked  up  the  sheet  of  paper,  which  was  lying 
exactly  as  Burton  had  left  it.  Then,  he  lifted  up 
the  little  dwarf  tree  and  looked  at  it. 

**  It  is  finished.  The  nineteenth  generation  has  tri- 
umphed. He  who  shall  eat  of  the  brown  fruit  of  this 
tree,  shall  see  the  things  of  Life  and  Death  as  they  are. 
He  who  shall  eat  —  '* 

"  Well,  I'm  d— d!  "  he  muttered.  "  What's  it  aU 
mean,  anyway.'*" 


62  THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

"  Try  a  brown  bean,"  Burton  suggested  softly. 
"  They  aren't  half  bad." 

"  Very  likely  poison,"  Mr.  Waddington  said, 
suspiciously. 

Burton  said  nothing  for  a  moment.  He  had  taken 
up  the  sheet  of  paper  and  was  gazing  at  the  un- 
translated portion. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  murmured,  "  if  there  is  any  one 
who  could  tell  us  what  the  other  part  of  it  means.''  " 

"  The  d — d  thing  smells  all  right,"  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton declared.     "  Here  goes !  " 

He  broke  off  a  brown  bean  and  swallowed  it. 
Burton  turned  round  just  in  time  to  see  the  deed. 
For  a  moment  he  stood  aghast.  Then  very  slowly 
he  tiptoed  his  way  from  the  door  and  hurried 
stealthily  from  the  house.  From  some  bills  which 
he  had  been  studying  half  an  hour  ago  he  remem- 
bered that  Mr.  Waddington  was  due,  later  in  the 
morning,  to  conduct  a  sale  of  "  antique  "  furniture ! 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  63 


CHAPTER    VI 

A    MEETING    WITH    ELLEN 

The  clearness  of  vision  which  enabled  Alfred 
Burton  now  to  live  in  and  appreciate  a  new  and  mar- 
velous world,  failed,  however,  to  keep  him  from  feel- 
ing, occasionally,  exceedingly  hungry.  He  lived  on 
very  little,  but  the  weekly  amount  must  always  be 
sent  to  Garden  Green.  There  came  a  time  when  he 
broke  in  upon  the  last  five  pound  note  of  his  sa- 
vings. He  realized  the  position  without  any  actual 
misgivings.  He  denied  himself  regretfully  a  tiny 
mezzotint  of  the  Raphael  "  Madonna,"  which  he  cov- 
eted for  his  mantelpiece.  He  also  denied  himself 
dinner  for  several  evenings.  When  fortune  knocked 
at  his  door  he  was,  in  fact,  extraordinarily  hungry. 
He  still  had  faith,  notwithstanding  his  difficulties, 
and  no  symptoms  of  dejection.  He  was  perfectly 
well  aware  that  this  need  for  food  was,  after  all, 
one  of  the  most  unimportant  affairs  in  the  world, 
although  he  was  forced  sometimes  to  admit  to  him- 
self that  he  found  it  none  the  less  surprisingly  un- 
pleasant.    Chance,  however,  handed  over  to  him  a 


64  THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

shilling  discovered  upon  the  curb,  and  a  high-class 
evening  paper  left  upon  a  seat  in  the  Park.  He 
had  no  sooner  eaten  and  drunk  with  the  former  than 
he  opened  the  latter.  There  was  an  article  on  the 
front  page  entitled  "  London  Awake."  He  read  it 
line  bj  line  and  laughed.  It  was  all  so  ridiculously 
simple.  He  hurried  back  to  his  rooms  and  wrote  a 
much  better  one  on  "  London  Asleep."  He  was 
master  of  his  subject.  He  wrote  of  what  he  had  seen 
with  effortless  and  sublime  verity.  Why  not.''  Sim- 
ply with  the  aid  of  pen  and  ink  he  transferred  from 
the  cells  of  his  memory  into  actual  phrases  the  silent 
panorama  which  he  had  seen  with  his  own  eyes. 
That  one  matchless  hour  before  the  dawn  was  en- 
tirely his.  Throughout  its  sixty  minutes  he  had 
watched  and  waited  with  every  sense  quivering.  He 
had  watched  and  heard  that  first  breath  of  dawn 
come  stealing  into  life.  It  was  child's  play  to  him. 
He  knew  nothing  about  editors,  but  he  walked  into 
the  office  of  the  newspaper  which  he  had  picked  up, 
and  explained  his  mission. 

"  We  are  not  looking  for  new  contributors  at 
present,"  he  was  told  a  little  curtly.  "  What  paper 
have  you  been  on  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  written  anything  before  in  my 
life,"  Burton  confessed,  "  but  this  is  much  better 
than  *  London  Awake,'  which  you  published  a  few 
evenings  ago." 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  65 

The  sub-editor  of  that  newspaper  looked  at  him 
with  kindly  contempt. 

"  '  London  Awake  '  was  written  for  us  by  Rupert 
Mendosa.  We  don't  get  beginner's  stuff  like  that. 
I  don't  think  it  will  be  the  least  use,  but  I'll  look  at 
jour  article  if  you  like  —  quick !  " 

Burton  handed  over  his  copy  with  calm  confidence. 
It  was  shockingly  written  on  odd  pieces  of  paper, 
pinned  together  anyhow  —  an  untidy  and  extraor- 
dinary-looking production.  The  sub-editor  very 
nearly  threw  it  contemptuously  back.  Instead  he 
glanced  at  it,  frowned,  read  a  little  more,  and  went 
on  reading.  When  he  had  finished,  he  looked  at  this 
strange,  thin  young  man  with  the  pallid  cheeks  and 
deep-set  eyes,  in  something  like  awe. 

"  You  wrote  this  yourself?  "  he  asked. 

*'  Certainly,  sir,"  Burton  answered.  "  If  it  is 
really  worth  putting  in  your  paper  and  paying  for, 
jou  can  have  plenty  more." 

*'  But  why  did  you  write  it.''  "  the  editor  persisted. 
^*  Where  did  you  get  the  idea  from .''  " 

Burton  looked  at  him  in  mild-eyed  wonder. 

"  It  is  just  what  I  see  as  I  pass  along,"  he  ex- 
plained. 

The  sub-editor  was  an  ambitious  literary  man 
himself  and  he  looked  steadfastly  away  from  his 
visitor,  out  of  the  window,  his  eyes  full  of  regret, 
his  teeth  clenched  almost  in  anger.     Just  what  he 


66  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

saw  as  he  passed  along !  What  he  saw  —  this  com- 
mon-looking, half-educated  little  person,  with  only 
the  burning  eyes  and  sensitive  mouth  to  redeem  him 
from  utter  insignificance!  Truly  this  was  a  strange 
finger  which  opened  the  eyes  of  some  and  kept  sealed 
the  eyelids  of  others !  For  fifteen  years  this  very 
cultivated  gentleman  who  sat  in  the  sub-editor's 
chair  and  drew  his  two  thousand  a  year,  had  driven 
his  pen  along  the  scholarly  way,  and  all  that  he  had 
written,  beside  this  untidy-looking  document,  had 
not  in  it  a  single  germ  of  the  things  that  count. 

"  Well  ?  "  Burton  asked,  with  ill-concealed  eager- 
ness. 

The  sub-editor  was,  after  all,  a  man.  He  set  his 
teeth  and  came  back  to  the  present. 

"  My  readers  will,  I  am  sure,  find  your  little 
article  quite  interesting,"  he  said  calmly.  "  We 
shall  be  glad  to  accept  it,  and  anything  else  you  may 
send  us  in  the  same  vein.  You  have  an  extraordi- 
nary gift  for  description." 

Burton  drew  a  long  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said.  "  How  much  shall  you 
pay  me  for  it?  " 

The  sub-editor  estimated  the  length  of  the  pro- 
duction. It  was  not  an  easy  matter,  owing  to  the 
odd  scraps  of  paper  upon  which  it  was  written. 

"Will  ten  guineas  be  satisfactory?"  he  inquired. 

"  Very     satisfactory     indeed,"     Burton     replied, 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  67 

**  and  I  should  like  it  now,  at  once,  please.  I  need 
some  money  to  send  to  my  wife." 

The  sub-editor  rang  for  the  cashier. 

"  So  you  are  married,"  he  remarked.  "  You 
seem  quite  young." 

"  I  am  married,"  Burton  admitted.  "  I  am  not 
living  with  my  wife  just  now  because  we  see  things 
differently.  I  have  also  a  little  boy.  They  live 
down  at  Garden  Green  and  I  send  them  money 
every  Saturday." 

*'  What  do  you  do  ?     What  is  your  occupation .''  " 

**  I  just  wander  about,"  Burton  explained.  "  I 
used  to  be  an  auctioneer's  clerk,  but  I  lost  my  situ- 
ation and  I  couldn't  get  another." 

"  What  made  you  think  of  writing  ?  "  the  sub- 
editor asked,  leaning  a  little  over  towards  his  new 
contributor. 

"  I  picked  up  a  copy  of  your  newspaper  on  a 
seat  in  the  Park,"  Burton  replied.  "  I  saw  that 
article  on  *  London  Awake.'  I  thought  If  that  sort 
of  thing  was  worth  printing,  It  was  worth  paying 
for,  so  I  tried  to  do  something  like  It.  It  Is  so 
easy  to  write  just  what  you  see,"  he  concluded,  apol- 
ogetically. 

The  sub-editor  handed  him  his  ten  guineas. 

"  When  will  you  bring  me  some  more  work  ?  " 

"  Whenever  you  like,"  Burton  replied  promptly. 
"What  about?" 


68  THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 

The  sub-editor  shook  his  head. 

"  You  had  better  choose  your  own  subjects." 

"  Covent  Garden  at  half-past  three.'' "  Burton 
suggested,  a  little  diffidently.  "  I  can't  describe  it 
properly.  I  can  only  just  put  down  what  I  see 
going  on  there,  but  it  might  be  interesting." 

"  Covent  Garden  will  do  very  well  indeed,"  the 
sub-editor  told  him.  "  You  needn't  bother  about  the 
description.  Just  do  as  you  say ;  put  down  —  what 
you  see." 

Burton  put  down  just  what  he  saw  as  he  moved 
about  the  city,  for  ten  days  following,  and  without 
a  word  of  criticism  the  sub-editor  paid  him  ten 
guineas  a  time  and  encouraged  him  to  come  again. 
Burton,  however,  decided  upon  a  few  days'  rest. 
Not  that  the  work  was  any  trouble  to  him ;  on  the 
contrary  it  was  all  too  ridiculously  easy.  It  seemed 
to  him  the  most  amazing  thing  that  a  description 
in  plain  words  of  what  any  one  might  stand  and  look 
at,  should  be  called  literature.  And  yet  some  times, 
in  his  more  thoughtful  moments,  he  dimly  under- 
stood. He  remembered  that  between  him  and  the 
multitudes  of  his  fellow-creatures  there  was  a  dif- 
ference. Everything  he  saw,  he  saw  through  the 
clear  white  light.  There  were  no  mists  to  cloud  his 
vision,  there  was  no  halo  of  idealism  hovering  around 
the  objects  upon  which  his  eyes  rested.  It  was  the 
truth  he  saw,  and  nothing  beyond  it.     He  compared 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  69 

his  own  work  with  work  of  a  similar  character 
written  by  well-known  men,  and  his  understanding 
became  more  complete.  He  found  in  their  work  a 
touch  of  personality,  a  shade  of  self-consciousness 
about  the  description  of  even  the  most  ordinary 
things.  The  individuality  of  the  writer  and  his 
subject  were  always  blended.  In  his  own  work,  sub- 
ject alone  counted.  He  had  never  learned  any  of 
the  tricks  of  writing.  His  prose  consisted  of  the 
simple  use  of  simple  words.  His  mind  was  empty 
of  all  inheritance  of  acquired  knowledge.  He  had 
no  preconceived  ideals,  towards  the  realizations  of 
which  he  should  bend  the  things  he  saw.  He  was 
simply  a  prophet  of  absolute  truth.  If  he  had 
found  in  those  days  a  literary  godfather,  he  would, 
without  doubt,  have  been  presented  to  the  world  as 
a  genius. 

Then,  with  money  in  his  pocket,  clad  once  more 
in  decent  apparel,  he  made  one  more  effort  to  do 
his  duty.  He  sent  for  Ellen  and  little  Alfred  to 
come  up  and  see  him.  He  sent  them  a  little  extra 
money,  and  he  wrote  as  kindly  as  possible.  He 
wanted  to  do  the  right  thing;  he  was  even  anxious 
about  it.  He  determined  that  he  would  do  his  very 
best  to  bridge  over  that  yawning  gulf.  The  gin- 
gerbread villa  he  absolutely  could  not  face,  so  he 
met  them  at  the  Leicester  Square  Tube. 

The  moment  they  arrived,  his  heart  sank.     They 


70  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

stepped  out  of  the  lift  and  looked  around  them. 
Ellen's  hat  seemed  larger  than  ever,  and  was  ornate 
with  violent-colored  flowers.  Her  face  was  hidden 
behind  a  violet  veil,  and  she  wore  a  white  feather 
boa,  fragments  of  which  reposed  upon  the  lift  man's 
shoulder  and  little  Alfred's  knickerbockers.  Her 
■dress  was  of  black  velveteen,  fitting  a  little  tightly 
over  her  corsets,  and  showing  several  imperfectly 
removed  stains  and  creases.  She  wore  tan  shoes, 
one  of  which  was  down  at  the  heel,  and  primrose- 
colored  gloves.  Alfred  wore  his  usual  black  Sun- 
day suit,  a  lace  collar  around  his  neck  about  a  foot 
wide,  a  straw  hat  on  the  ribbon  of  which  was  printed 
the  name  of  one  of  His  Majesty's  battleships,  and 
a  curl  plastered  upon  his  forehead  very  much  in 
the  style  of  Burton  himself  in  earlier  days.  Di- 
rectly he  saw  his  father,  he  put  his  finger  in  his 
mouth  and  seemed  inclined  to  howl.  Ellen  raised 
her  veil  and  pushed  him  forward. 

"  Run  to  daddy,"  she  ordered,  sharply.  "  Do  as 
you're  told,  or  I'll  box  your  ears." 

The  child  made  an  unwilling  approach.  Ellen 
herself  advanced,  holding  her  skirts  genteelly 
clutched  in  her  left  hand,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  her 
husband,  her  expression  a  mixture  of  defiance  and 
appeal.  Burton  welcomed  them  both  calmly.  His 
tongue  failed  him,  however,  when  he  tried  to  embark 
upon  the  most  ordinary  form   of  greeting.     Their 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  71 

appearance  gave  him  again  a  most  unpleasant 
shock,  a  fact  which  he  found  it  extremely  difficult 
to  conceal. 

"Well,  can't  you  say  you're  glad  to  see  us?" 
Ellen  demanded,  belligerently. 

"  If  I  had  not  wished  to  see  you,"  he  replied, 
tactfully,  "  I  should  not  have  asked  you  to  come." 

"  Kiss  your  father,"  Ellen  ordered,  twisting  the 
arm  of  her  offspring.  "  Kiss  him  at  once,  then, 
and  stop  whimpering." 

The  salute,  which  seemed  to  afford  no  one  any 
particular  satisfaction,  was  carried  out  in  perfunc- 
tory fashion.  Burton,  secretly  wiping  his  lips  —  he 
hated  peppermint  —  turned  towards  Piccadilly. 

"  We  will  have  some  tea,"  he  suggested,  — • 
"  Lyons',  if  you  like.  There  is  music  there.  I  am 
glad  that  you  are  both  well." 

**  Considering,"  Ellen  declared,  "  that  you  haven't 
set  eyes  on  us  for  Lord  knows  how  long  —  well,  you 
need  to  be  glad.    Upon  my  word !  " 

She  was  regarding  her  husband  in  a  puzzled  man- 
ner. Burton  was  quietly  but  well  dressed.  His 
apparel  was  not  such  as  Ellen  would  have  thought 
of  choosing  for  him,  but  in  a  dim  sort  of  way  she 
recognized  its  qualities.  She  recognized,  too,  some- 
thing new  about  him  which,  although  she  vigorously 
rebelled  against  it,  still  impressed  her  with  a  sense 
of  superiority. 


72  THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

"  Alfred  Burton,"  she  continued,  impressively, 
"  for  the  dear  land's  sake,  what's  come  over  you  ? 
Mrs.  Johnson  was  around  last  week  and  told  me 
you'd  lost  your  job  at  Waddington's  months  ago. 
And  here  you  are,  all  in  new  clothes,  and  not  a  word 
about  coming  back  or  anything.  Am  I  your  wife  or 
not.'*  What  do  you  mean  by  it?  Have  you  gone 
off  your  head,  or  what  have  we  done  —  me  and  little 
Alfred?" 

"  We  will  talk  at  tea-time,"  Burton  said,  un- 
easily. 

Ellen  set  her  lips  grimly  and  the  little  party 
hastened  on.  Burton  ordered  an  extravagant  tea, 
in  which  Ellen  declined  to  take  the  slightest  inter- 
est. Alfred  alone  ate  stolidly  and  with  every  ap- 
pearance of  complete  satisfaction.  Burton  had 
chosen  a  place  as  near  the  band  as  possible,  with 
a  view  to  rendering  conversation  more  or  less  dif- 
ficult. Ellen,  however,  had  a  voice  which  was  su- 
perior to  bands.  Alfred,  with  his  mouth  continually 
filled  with  bun,  appeared  fascinated  by  the  cornet 
player,  from  whom  he  seldom  removed  his  eyes. 

"  What  I  want  to  know,  Alfred  Burton,  is  first 
how  long  this  tomfoolery  is  to  last,  and  secondly 
what  it  all  means  ?  "  Ellen  began,  with  her  elbows 
upon  the  table  and  a  reckless  disregard  of  neigh- 
bors. "  Haven't  we  lived  for  ten  years,  husband 
and  wife,  at  Clematis  Villa,  and  you  as  happy  and 


^^^    sal 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  73 

satisfied  with  his  home  as  a  man  could  be?  And 
now,  all  of  a  sudden,  comes  this  piece  of  business. 
Have  you  gone  off  your  head?  Here  are  all  the 
neighbors  just  wild  with  curiosity,  and  I  knowing 
no  more  what  to  say  to  them  than  the  man  in  the 
moon." 

"  Is  there  any  necessity  to  say  anything  to 
them  ?  "  Burton  asked,  a  httle  vaguely. 

Ellen  shook  in  her  chair.  A  sham  tortoise-shell 
hairpin  dropped  from  her  untidy  hair  on  to  the  floor 
with  a  little  clatter.  Her  veil  parted  at  the  top 
from  her  hat.  Little  Alfred,  terrified  by  an  angry 
frown  from  the  cornet  player,  was  hastily  return- 
ing fragments  of  partially  consumed  bun  to  his 
plate.  The  air  of  the  place  was  hot  and  uncom- 
fortable. Burton  for  a  moment  half  closed  his  eyes. 
His  whole  being  was  in  passionate  revolt. 

"  Any  necessity  ?  "  Ellen  repeated,  half  hysteric- 
ally. "  Alfred  Burton,  let's  have  done  with  this 
shilly-shallying !  After  coming  home  regularly  to 
your  meals  for  six  years,  do  you  suppose  you  can 
disappear  and  not  have  people  curious?  Do  you 
suppose  you  can  leave  your  wife  and  son  and  not 
a  word  said  or  a  question  asked?  What  I  want  to 
know  is  this  —  are  you  coming  home  to  Clematis 
Villa  or  are  you  not?  " 

"  At  present  I  am  not,"  Burton  declared,  gently 
but  very  firmly  indeed. 


74  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

"  Is  it  true  that  you've  got  the  sack  from  Mr. 
Waddington?" 

"  Perfectly,"  he  admitted.  "  I  have  found  some 
other  work,  though." 

She  leaned  forward  so  that  one  of  those  dyed 
feathers  to  which  he  objected  so  strongly  brushed 
his  cheek. 

"  Have  you  touched  the  money  in  the  Savings 
Bank.''  "  she  demanded. 

"  I  have  drawn  out  every  penny  of  it  to  send  you 
week  by  week,"  he  replied,  "  but  I  am  in  a  position 
now  to  replace  it.  You  can  do  it  yourself,  in  your 
own  name,  if  you  like.     Here  it  is." 

He  produced  a  little  roll  of  notes  and  handed 
them  to  her.  She  took  them  with  shaking  fingers. 
She  was  beginning  to  lose  some  of  her  courage. 
The  sight  of  the  money  impressed  her. 

"  Alfred  Burton,"  she  said,  "  why  don't  you  drop 
all  this  foolishness?  Come  home  with  us  this  after- 
noon." 

She  leaned  across  the  table,  on  which  she  had 
once  more  plumped  her  elbows.  She  looked  at  him 
in  a  way  he  had  once  found  fascinating  —  her  chin 
thrown  forward,  her  cheeks  supported  by  her 
knuckles.  Little  specks  of  her  boa  fell  into  her 
untouched  teacup. 

"  Come  home  with  Alfred  and  me,"  she  begged, 
with   half-ashamed   earnestness.      "  It's   band   night 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  75 

and  we  might  ask  the  Johnsons  in  to  supper.  I've 
got  a  nice  steak  in  the  house,  been  hanging,  and 
Mrs.  Cross  could  come  in  and  cook  it  while  we  are 
out.  Mr.  Johnson  would  sing  to  us  afterwards, 
and  there's  your  banjo.  You  do  play  it  so  well, 
Alfred.  You  used  to  like  band  nights  —  to  look 
forward  to  them  all  the  week.     Come,  now !  " 

The  man's  whole  being  was  in  a  state  of  revolt. 
It  was  an  amazing  thing  indeed,  this  which  had  come 
to  him.  No  wonder  Ellen  was  puzzled!  She  had 
right  on  her  side,  and  more  than  right.  It  was 
perfectly  true  that  he  had  been  accustomed  to  look 
forward  to  band  nights.  It  was  true  that  he  used 
to  like  to  have  a  neighbor  in  to  supper  afterwards, 
and  play  the  fool  with  the  banjo  and  crack  silly 
jokes;  talk  shop  with  Johnson,  who  was  an  auc- 
tioneer's clerk  himself;  smoke  atrocious  cigars  and 
make  worse  puns.  And  now!  He  looked  at  her 
almost  pitifully. 

"I  —  I  can't  manage  it  just  yet,"  he  said,  hur- 
riedly. *'  I'll  write  —  or  see  you  again  soon.  Ellen, 
I'm  sorry,"  he  wound  up,  "but  just  at  present  I 
can't  change  anything." 

So  Burton  paid  the  bill  and  the  tea-party  was 
over.  He  saw  them  off  as  far  as  the  lift  in  Leicester 
Square  Station,  but  Ellen  never  looked  at  him  again. 
He  had  a  shrewd  suspicion  that  underneath  her  veil 
she  was  weeping.     She  refused  to  say  good-bye  and 


76  THE   DOUBLE    LIFE   OF 

kept  tight  hold  of  Alfred's  hand.  When  they  had 
gone,  he  passed  out  of  the  station  and  stood  upon 
the  pavement  of  Piccadilly  Circus.  Side  by  side 
with  a  sense  of  immeasurable  relief,  an  odd  kind  of 
pain  was  gripping  his  heart.  Something  that  had 
belonged  to  him  had  been  wrenched  away.  A  wave 
of  meretricious  sentiment,  false  yet  with  a  curious 
base  of  naturalness,  swept  in  upon  him  for  a  moment 
and  tugged  at  his  heart-strings.  She  had  been  his 
woman ;  the  little  boy  with  the  sticky  mouth  was 
child  of  his.  The  bald  humanity  of  his  affections 
for  them  joined  forces  for  a  moment  with  the  simple 
greatness  of  his  new  capacity.  Dimly  he  realized 
that  somewhere  behind  all  these  things  lurked  a 
truth  greater  than  any  he  had  as  yet  found.  Then, 
with  an  almost  incredible  swiftness,  this  new  emotion 
began  to  fade  away.  His  brain  began  to  work,  his 
new  fastidiousness  asserted  itself.  A  wave  of  cheap 
perfume  assailed  his  nostrils.  The  untidy  preten- 
tiousness of  her  ill-chosen  clothes,  the  unreality  of 
her  manner  and  carriage,  the  sheer  vulgarity  of  her 
choice  of  words  and  phrases  —  these  things  seized 
him  as  a  nightmare.  Like  a  man  who  rushes  to  a 
cafe  for  a  drink  in  a  moment  of  exhaustion,  he 
hastened  along  towards  the  National  Gallery.  His 
nerves  were  all  quivering.  An  opalescent  light  in 
the  sky  above  Charing  Cross  soothed  him  for  a  mo- 
ment.    A  glimpse  into  a  famous  art  shop  was  like 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  77 

a  cool  draught  of  water.  Then,  as  he  walked  along 
in  more  leisurely  fashion,  the  great  idea  came  to 
him.  He  stopped  short  upon  the  pavement.  Here 
was  the  solution  to  all  his  troubles :  a  bean  for 
Ellen;  another,  or  perhaps  half  of  one,  for  little 
Alfred!  He  could  not  go  back  to  their  world;  he 
would  bring  them  into  his ! 


78  THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 


CHAPTER    Vn 

THE    TRUTHFUL    AUCTIONEER 

At  a  little  before  ten  on  the  following  morning, 
Burton  stood  upon  the  pavement  outside,  looking 
with  some  amazement  at  the  house  in  Wenslow 
Square.  The  notices  "  To  Let  "  had  all  been  torn 
down.  A  small  army  of  paper-hangers  and  white- 
washers  were  at  work.  A  man  was  busy  fastening 
flower  boxes  in  the  lower  windows.  On  all  hands 
were  suggestions  of  impending  occupation.  Bur- 
ton mounted  the  steps  doubtfully  and  stood  in  the 
hall,  underneath  a  whitewasher's  plank.  The  door 
of  the  familiar  little  room  stood  open  before  him. 
He  peered  eagerly  in.  It  was  swept  bare  and  com- 
pletely empty.  All  traces  of  its  former  mysterious 
occupant  were  gone. 

"  Is  this  house  let.?  "  he  inquired  of  a  man  who 
was  deliberately  stirring  a  pail  of  shiny  whitewash. 

The  plasterer  nodded. 

"  Seems  so,"  he  admitted.  "  It's  been  empty  long 
enough." 

Burton  looked  around  him  a  little  vaguely. 

"  You  all  seem  very  busy,"  he  remarked. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  79 

"  Some  bloke  from  the  country's  taken  the  'ouse," 
the  man  grumbled,  "  and  wants  to  move  in  before 
the  blooming  paint's  dry.  Nobody  can't  do  im- 
possibilities, mister,"  he  continued,  "  leaving  out  the 
Unions,  which  can't  bear  to  see  us  over-exert  our- 
selves. They've  always  got  a  particular  eye  on  me, 
knowing  I'm  a  bit  too  rapid  for  most  of  them  when 
I  start." 

"  Give  yourself  a  rest  for  a  moment,"  Burton 
begged.  "  Tell  me,  what's  become  of  the  rugs  and 
oddments  of  furniture  from  that  little  room  oppo- 
site? " 

The  man  produced  a  pipe,  contemplated  it  for 
a  moment  thoughtfully,  and  squeezed  down  a  por- 
tion of  blackened  tobacco  with  his  thumb. 

"  Poor  smoking,"  he  complained.  "  Got  such  a 
family  I  can't  afford  more  than  one  ounce  a  week. 
Nothing  but  dust  here." 

**  I  haven't  any  tobacco  with  me,"  Burton  re- 
gretted, "  but  I'll  stand  a  couple  of  ounces,  with 
pleasure,"  he  added,  producing  a  shilling. 

The  man  pocketed  the  coin  without  undue  exhil- 
aration, struck  a  vilely  smelling  match,  and  lit  the 
fragment  of  filth  at  the  bottom  of  his  pipe. 

"  About  those  oddments  of  furniture  ?  "  Burton 
reminded  him. 

"  Stolen,"  the  man  asserted  gloomily,  —  "  stolen 
under  our  very  eyes,  as  it  were.     Some  one  must  have 


So  THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

nipped  in  just  as  you  did  this  morning,  and  whisked 
them  off.  Easy  done  with  a  covered  truck  outside 
and  us  so  wrapped  up  in  our  work,  so  to  speak." 

"When  was  this?"  Burton  demanded,  eagerly. 

"  Day  afore  yesterday." 

*'  Does  Mr.  Waddington  know  about  it  ?  " 

The  man  removed  his  pipe  from  his  teeth  and 
gazed  intently  at  his  questioner. 

"  Is  this  Mr.  Waddington  you're  a-speaking  of 
a  red-faced  gentleman  —  kind  of  auctioneer  or 
agent.'*     Looks  as  though  he  could  shift  a  drop.''  " 

Burton  recognized  the  description. 

"  That,"  he  assented,  "  is  Mr.  Waddington." 

The  workman  replaced  the  pipe  in  the  comer  of 
his  mouth  and  nodded  deliberately. 

"  He  knows  right  enough,  he  does.  Came  down 
here  yesterday  afternoon  with  a  friend.  Seemed, 
from  what  I  could  hear,  to  want  to  give  him  some- 
thing to  eat  out  of  that  room.  I  put  him  down 
as  dotty,  but  my !  you  should  have  heard  him  when 
he  found  out  that  the  stuff  had  been  lifted !  " 

"Was  he  disappointed.?"  Burton  asked. 

Words  seemed  to  fail  the  plasterer.  He  nodded 
his  head  a  great  many  times  and  spat  upon  the 
floor. 

"  That  may  be  the  word  I  was  looking  for,"  he 
admitted.  *'  Can't  say  as  I  should  have  thought  of 
it  myself.      Anyway,  the  bloke   never  stopped  for 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  8i 

close  on  five  minutes,  and  old  Joe  —  him  on  the 
ladder  there  —  he  came  all  the  way  down  and  lis- 
tened with  his  mouth  open,  and  he  don't  want  no 
larning  neither  when  there's  things  to  be  said.  Kind 
of  auctioneer  they  said  he  was.  Comes  easy  to  that 
sort,  I  suppose." 

"  Did  he  —  did  Mr.  Waddington  obtain  any  clue 
as  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  missing  property  .f*  " 
Burton  asked,  with  some  eagerness. 

**  Not  as  I  knows  on,"  the  plasterer  replied,  pick- 
ing up  his  brush,  "  and  as  to  the  missing  property, 
there  was  nowt  but  a  few  mouldy  rugs  and  a  flower- 
pot in  the  room.  Some  folks  does  seem  able  to 
work  themselves  up  into  a  fuss  about  nothing,  and 
no  mistake !  Good  morning,  guvnor !  Drop  in 
again  some  time  when  you're  passing." 

Burton  turned  out  of  Wenslow  Square  and  ap- 
proached the  offices  and  salesrooms  of  Messrs.  Wad- 
dington &  Forbes  with  some  misgiving.  Bearing 
in  mind  the  peculiar  nature  of  the  business  con- 
ducted by  the  firm,  he  could  only  conclude  that  ruin, 
prompt  and  absolute,  had  been  the  inevitable  se- 
quence of  Mr.  Waddington's  regrettable  appetite. 
He  was  somewhat  relieved  to  find  that  there  were 
no  evidences  of  it  in  the  familiar  office  which  he 
entered  with  some  diffidence. 

*'  Is  Mr.  Waddington  in  ?  "  he  inquired. 

A  strange  young  man  slipped  from  his  stool  and 


82  THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

found  his  questioner  gazing  about  him  in  a  bewil- 
dered manner.  There  was  much,  indeed,  that  was 
surprising  in  his  surroundings.  The  tattered  bills 
had  been  torn  down  from  the  walls,  the  dust-covered 
files  of  papers  removed,  the  ceilings  and  walls 
painted  and  papered.  A  general  cleanliness  and 
sense  of  order  had  taken  the  place  of  the  old  med- 
lej.  The  young  man  who  had  answered  his  inquiry 
was  quietly  dressed  and  not  in  the  least  like  the 
missing  office-boy. 

**  Mr.  Waddington  is  at  present  conducting  a  sale 
of  furniture,"  he  replied.  "  I  can  send  a  message 
in  if  your  business  is  important." 

Burton,  who  had  always  felt  a  certain  amount 
of  liking  for  his  late  employer,  was  filled  now  with 
a  sudden  pity  for  him.  Truth  was  a  great  and 
marvelous  thing,  but  the  last  person  who  had  need 
of  it  was  surely  an  auctioneer  engaged  in  the  sale 
of  sham  articles  of  every  description !  It  was  put- 
ting the  man  in  an  unfair  position.  A  vague  sense 
of  loyalty  towards  his  late  chief  prompted  Burton's 
next  action.  If  help  were  possible,  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton should  have  it. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  "  I  will  step  into  the  sales- 
room myself.     I  know  the  way." 

Burton  pushed  open  the  doors  and  entered  the 
room.  To  his  surprise,  the  place  was  packed. 
There   was   the   usual   crowd   of  buyers   and   many 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  83 

strange  faces ;  the  usual  stacks  of  furniture  of  the 
usual  quality,  and  other  lots  less  familiar.  Mr. 
Waddington  stood  in  his  accustomed  place  but  not 
in  his  accustomed  attitude.  The  change  in  him  was 
obvious  but  in  a  sense  pathetic.  He  was  quietly 
dressed,  and  his  manner  denoted  a  new  nervousness, 
not  to  say  embarrassment.  Drops  of  perspiration 
stood  upon  his  forehead.  The  strident  note  had 
gone  from  his  voice.  He  spoke  clearly  enough,  but 
more  softly,  and  without  the  familiar  roll. 

"  Gentlemen  —  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  was 
saying  as  Burton  entered,  "  the  next  item  on  the 
catalogue  is  number  17,  described  as  an  oak  chest, 
said  to  have  come  from  Winchester  Cathedral  and 
to  be  a  genuine  antique." 

Mr.  Waddington  leaned  forward  from  his  ros- 
trum.    His  tone  became  more  earnest. 

**  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  continued,  "  I  am 
bound  to  sell  as  per  catalogue,  and  the  chest  in 
question  is  described  exactly  as  it  was  sent  in  to 
us,  but  I  do  not  myself  for  a  moment  believe  either 
that  it  came  from  Winchester  or  that  it  is  in  any 
way  antique.  Examine  it  for  yourselves  —  pray 
examine  it  thoroughly  before  you  bid.  IMy  im- 
pression is  that  it  is  a  common  oak  chest,  treated 
by  the  modern  huckster  whose  business  it  is  to  make 
new  things  look  like  old.  I  have  told  you  my  opin- 
ion, ladies  and  gentlemen.     At  what  shall  we  start 


84  THE   DOUBLE    LIFE   OF 

the  bidding?  It  is  a  useful  article,  anyhow,  and 
might  pass  for  an  antique  if  any  one  here  really 
cares  to  deceive  his  friends.  At  any  rate,  there  is 
no  doubt  that  it  is  —  er  —  a  chest,  and  that  it  will 
—  er  —  hold  things.  How  much  shall  we  say  for 
it?" 

There  was  a  little  flutter  of  conversation.  Peo- 
ple elbowed  one  another  furiously  in  their  desire  to 
examine  the  chest.  A  dark,  corpulent  man,  with 
curly  black  hair  and  an  unmistakable  nose,  looked 
at  the  auctioneer  in  a  puzzled  manner. 

"  Thay,  Waddington,  old  man,  what'th  the  game, 
eh.''  What  have  you  got  up  your  sleeve  that  you 
don't  want  to  thell  the  stuff?  Blow  me  if  I  can 
tumble  to  it !  " 

"  There  is  no  game  at  all,"  Mr.  Waddington  re- 
plied firmly.  "  I  can  assure  you,  Mr.  Absolom,  and 
all  of  you,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  that  I  have  sim- 
ply told  you  what  I  believe  to  be  the  absolute  truth. 
It  is  my  business  to  sell  whatever  is  sent  to  me  here 
for  that  purpose,  but  it  is  not  my  business  or  in- 
tention to  deceive  you  in  any  way,  if  I  can  help  it." 

Mr.  Absolom  re-examined  the  oak  chest  with  a 
puzzled  expression.  Then  he  strolled  away  and 
joined  a  little  knot  of  brokers  who  were  busy  dis- 
cussing matters.  The  various  remarks  which  passed 
from  one  to  another  indicated  sufficiently  their  per- 
plexed condition  of  mind. 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  85 

"  The  old  man's  dotty !  " 

*'  Not  he !    There's  a  game  on  somewhere !  " 

**  He  wants  to  buy  in  some  of  the  truck !  " 

"  Old  Waddy  knows  what  he's  doing !  " 

Mr.  Absolom  listened  for  a  while  and  then  re- 
turned to  the  rostrum. 

"  Mr.  Waddington,"  he  asked,  "  ith  it  the  truth 
that  there  are  one  or  two  pieces  of  real  good  stuff 
here,  thent  in  by  an  old  farmer  in  Kent.''  " 

"  Quite  true,"  Mr.  Waddington  declared,  eagerly. 
*'  Unfortunately,  they  all  came  in  together  and  were 
included  with  other  articles  which  have  not  the  same 
antecedents.  You  may  be  able  to  pick  out  which 
they  are.  I  can't.  Although  I  am  supposed  to  be 
in  the  business,  I  never  could  tell  the  difference  my- 
self." 

There  was  a  chorus  of  guffaws.  Mr.  Waddington 
mopped  his  forehead  with  a  handkerchief. 

*'  It  is  absolutely  true,  gentlemen,"  he  pleaded. 
**  I  have  always  posed  as  a  judge  but  I  know  very 
little  about  it.  As  a  matter  of  fact  I  have  had 
scarcely  any  experience  In  real  antique  furniture. 
We  must  get  on,  gentlemen.  What  shall  we  say  for 
lot  number  17?  Will  any  one  start  the  bidding  at 
one  sovereign  ?  " 

"  Two !  "  Mr.  Absolom  offered.  "  More  than  It'th 
worth,  perhaps,  but  I'll  rithk  It." 

"  It  Is  certainly  more  than  it's  worth,"  Mr,  Wad- 


86  THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 

dington  admitted,  dolefully.  "  However,  if  you 
have  the  money  to  throw  away  —  two  pounds,  then." 

Mr.  Waddington  raised  his  hammer  to  knock  the 
chest  down,  but  was  met  with  a  storm  from  all  quar- 
ters of  the  room. 

"  Two-ten ! " 

"  Three ! " 

"Three-ten!" 

"  Four ! " 

"  Four-ten ! " 

"  Five ! " 

"  Six  pounds !  " 

"  Seven ! " 

**  Seven-ten ! " 

"  Ten  pounds  !  " 

Mr.  Absolom,  who  so  far  had  held  his  own,  hesi- 
tated at  the  last  bid.  A  gray-haired  old  gentleman 
looked  around  him  fiercely.  The  gentleman  was 
seemingly  opulent  and  Mr.  Absolom  withdrew  with 
a  sigh.  Mr.  Waddington  eyed  the  prospective 
buyer  sorrowfully. 

"  You  are  quite  sure  that  you  mean  it,  sir  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  The  chest  is  not  worth  the  money,  you 
know." 

"  You  attend  to  your  business  and  I'll  attend  to 
mine ! "  the  old  gentleman  answered,  savagely. 
"  Most  improper  behavior,  I  call  it,  trying  to  buy 
in  your  own  goods  in  this  bare-faced  manner.     My 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  87 

name  is  Stephen  Hammonde,  and  the  money's  in  my 
pocket  for  this  or  anything  else  I  care  to  buy." 

Mr.  Waddington  raised  his  hammer  and  struck 
the  desk  in  front  of  him.  As  his  clerk  entered  the 
sale,  the  auctioneer  looked  up  and  caught  Burton's 
eye.  He  beckoned  to  him  eagerly.  Burton  came 
up  to  the  rostrum. 

"  Burton,"  Mr.  Waddington  exclaimed,  "  I  want 
to  talk  to  you !  You  see  what's  happened  to  me .''  " 
he  went  on,  mopping  his  forehead  with  his  hand- 
kerchief. 

"  Yes,  I  see !  " 

"It's  that  d— d  bean!"  Mr.  Waddington  de- 
clared. "  But  look  here,  Burton,  can  you  tell  me 
what's  happened  to  the  other  people?  " 

"  I  cannot,"  Burton  confessed.  "  I  am  beginning 
to  get  an  idea,  perhaps." 

"  Stand  by  for  a  bit  and  watch,"  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton begged,  "  I  must  go  on  with  the  sale  now. 
Take  a  little  lunch  with  me  afterwards.  Don't  de- 
sert me.  Burton.     We're  in  this  together," 

Burton  nodded  and  found  a  seat  at  a  little  dis- 
tance from  the  rostrum.  From  here  he  watched  the 
remainder  of  the  morning's  sale.  The  whole  affair 
seemed  to  resolve  itself  into  a  repetition  of  the  sale 
of  the  chest.  The  auctioneer's  attempts  to  describe 
correctly  the  wares  he  offered  were  met  with  min- 
gled suspicion  and  disbelief.    The  one  or  two  articles 


88  THE    DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

which  really  had  the  appearance  of  being  genuine, 
and  over  which  he  hesitated,  fetched  enormous 
prices,  and  all  the  time  his  eager  clients  eyed  him 
suspiciously.  No  one  trusted  him,  and  yet  it  was 
obvious  that  if  he  had  advertised  a  sale  every  day, 
the  room  would  have  been  packed.  Burton  watched 
the  proceedings  with  the  utmost  interest.  Once  or 
twice  people  who  recognized  him  came  up  and  asked 
him  questions,  to  which,  however,  he  was  able  to 
return  no  satisfactory  reply.  At  one  o'clock  pre- 
cisely, the  auctioneer,  with  a  little  sigh  of  relief, 
announced  a  postponement.  Even  after  he  had  left 
the  rostrum,  the  people  seemed  unwilling  to  leave 
the  place. 

"  Back  again  this  afternoon,  sir  ?  "  some  one  called 
out. 

"  At  half-past  two,"  the  auctioneer  replied,  with 
a  smothered  groan. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  89 


CHAPTER    VIII 


HESITATION 


Mr.  Waddington  called  a  taxicab. 

"  I  can't  stand  the  Golden  Lion  any  longer,"  he 
explained.  "  Somehow  or  other,  the  place  seems  to 
have  changed  in  the  most  extraordinary  manner 
during  the  last  week  or  so.  Everybody  drinks  too- 
much  there.  The  table-linen  isn't  clean,  and  the  bar- 
maids are  too  familiar.  I've  found  out  a  little  place 
in  Jermyn  Street  where  I  go  now  when  I  have  time^ 
We  can  talk  there." 

Burton  nodded.  He  was,  as  a  matter  of  fact,, 
intensely  interested.  Only  a  few  weeks  ago,  his  late 
employer  had  spent  nearly  every  moment  of  his 
time,  when  his  services  were  not  urgently  required 
at  the  office,  at  the  Golden  Lion,  and  he  had  been 
seen  on  more  than  one  occasion  at  the  theatre  and 
elsewhere  with  one  or  another  of  the  golden-haired 
ladies  behind  the  bar.  Mr.  Waddington  —  fortu- 
nately, perhaps,  considering  his  present  predica- 
ment !  —  was  a  bachelor. 

The  restaurant,  if  small,  was  an  excellent  one, 
and   Mr.   Waddington,   who   seemed   already   to   be 


90  THE   DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

treated  with  the  consideration  of  a  regular  cus- 
tomer, ordered  a  luncheon  which,  simple  though  it 
was,  inspired  his  companion  with  respect.  The 
waiter  withdrew  and  the  auctioneer  and  his  quon- 
dam clerk  sat  and  looked  at  one  another.  Their 
eyes  were  full  of  questions.  Mr.  Waddington  made 
a  bad  lapse. 

"  What  in  hell  do  you  suppose  it  all  means,  Bur- 
ton ?  "  he  demanded.     "  You  see,  I've  got  it  too !  " 

"  Obviously,"  Burton  answered.  "  I  am  sure," 
he  added,  a  little  hesitatingly,  "  that  I  congratulate 
you." 

Mr.  Waddington  at  that  moment  looked  scarcely 
a  subject  for  congratulation.  A  spasm,  as  though 
of  pain,  had  suddenly  passed  across  his  face.  He 
clutched  at  the  sides  of  his  chair. 

"  It's  marvelous !  "  he  murmured.  "  A  single 
word  like  that  and  I  suffer  in  an  absolutely  inde- 
scribable sort  of  way.  There  seems  to  be  something 
pulling  at  me  all  the  time,  even  when  it  rises  to  my 
lips." 

"  I  shouldn't  worry  about  that,"  Burton  replied. 
**  You  must  get  out  of  the  habit.  It's  quite  easy. 
I  expect  very  soon  you  will  find  all  desire  to  use 
strong  language  has  disappeared  entirely." 

Mr.  Waddington  was  inclined  to  be  gloomy. 

"  That's  all  very  well,"  he  declared,  "  but  I've  ray 
living  to  get." 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  91 

"  You  seem  to  be  doing  prettj  well  up  to  now," 
Burton  reminded  him. 

Mr.  Waddington  assented,  but  without  enthusi- 
asm. 

"  It  can't  last.  Burton,"  he  said.  "  I  am  ashamed 
to  say  it,  but  all  my  crowd  have  got  so  accustomed 
to  hear  me  —  er  —  exaggerate,  that  they  disbe- 
lieve everything  I  say  as  a  matter  of  habit.  I  tell 
them  now  that  the  goods  I  am  offering  are  not  what 
they  should  be,  because  I  can't  help  it,  and  they 
think  it's  because  I  have  some  deep  game  up  my 
sleeve,  or  because  I  do  not  want  to  part.  I  give 
them  a  week  or  so  at  the  most.  Burton  —  no  more." 

*'  Don't  you  think,"  Burton  suggested  doubt- 
fully, "  that  there  might  be  an  opening  in  the  pro- 
fession for  an  auctioneer  who  told  the  truth.'*  " 

Mr.  Waddington  smiled  sadly. 

"  That's  absurd.  Burton,"  he  replied,  "  and  you 
know  it." 

Burton  considered  the  subject  thoughtfully. 

"  There  must  be  occupations,"  he  murmured, 
"  where  instinctive  truthfulness  would  be  an  advan- 
tage." 

"  I  can't  think  of  one,"  Mr.  Waddington  an- 
swered, gloomily.  "  Besides,  I  am  too  old  for  any- 
thing absolutely  new." 

"  How  on  earth  did  you  succeed  in  letting  Idle- 
may  House  ?  "  Burton  asked  suddenly. 


92  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

"  Most  remarkable  incident,"  his  host  declared, 
*'  Reminds  me  of  my  last  two  sales  of  antique  fur- 
niture. This  man  —  a  Mr.  Forrester  —  came  to  me 
with  his  wife,  very  keen  to  take  a  house  in  that 
precise  neighborhood.  I  asked  him  the  lowest  rent 
to  start  with,  and  I  told  him  that  the  late  owner 
had  died  of  typhoid  there,  and  that  the  drains  had 
practically  not  been  touched  since." 

"And  yet  he  took  it?" 

"  Took  it  within  twenty-four  hours,"  Mr.  Wad- 
dington  continued.  "  He  seemed  to  like  the  way 
I  put  it  to  him,  and  instead  of  being  scared  he  went 
to  an  expert  in  drains,  who  advised  him  that  there 
was  only  quite  a  small  thing  wrong.  He's  doing 
up  some  of  the  rooms  and  moving  in  in  a  fort- 
night." 

*'  This  sounds  as  though  there  might  be  an  open- 
ing for  an  honest  house-agent,"  Burton  suggested. 

Mr.  Waddington  looked  dubious. 

*'  It's  never  been  tried.  Just  this  once  it  came  off, 
but  as  a  regular  thing  I  should  have  no  confidence  in 
it.  People  like  to  be  gulled.  They've  been  brought 
up  to  it.  They  ask  for  lies  —  that's  why  the  world's 
so  full  of  them.  Case  of  supply  and  demand,  you 
know." 

"  According  to  you,  then,"  Burton  remarked,  a 
little  dolefully,  *'  it  seems  as  though  this  change  In 
us  unfits  us  for  any  sort  of  practical  life." 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  93 

Mr.  Waddington  coughed.  Even  his  cough  was 
no  longer  strident. 

"  That,"  he  confessed,  "  has  been  worrying  me.  I 
find  it  hard  to  see  the  matter  differently.  If  one 
might  venture  upon  a  somewhat  personal  question, 
how  did  you  manage  to  discover  a  vocation.''  You 
seem  to  be  prospering,"  he  added,  glancing  at  his 
companion's  neat  clothes  and  gray  silk  tie. 

"  I  was  fortunate,"  Burton  admitted  frankly. 
**  I  discovered  quite  by  accident  the  one  form  in 
which  it  is  possible  to  palm  off  the  truth  on  an  un- 
suspecting public." 

Mr.  Waddington  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork. 
He  was  intensely  interested. 

"  Art,"  Burton  murmured  softly. 

"  Art.'' "  Mr.  Waddington  echoed  under  his 
breath,  a  little  vaguely.  The  questioning  gleam 
was  still  in  his  eyes. 

"  Painting,  sculpture,  in  my  case  writing,"  Bur- 
ton explained.  "  I  read  something  when  I  was  half 
starving  which  was  in  a  newspaper  and  had  obvi- 
ously been  paid  for,  and  I  saw  at  once  that  the  only 
point  about  it  was  that  the  man  had  put  down  what 
he  saw  instead  of  what  he  thought  he  saw.  I  tried 
the  same  thing,  and  up  to  the  present,  at  any  rate, 
it  seems  to  go  quite  well." 

"  That's  queer,"  Mr.  Waddington  murmured. 
*'  Do  you  know,"  he  continued,  dropping  his  voice 


94  THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

and  looking  around  him  anxiously,  "  that  I've  taken 
to  reading  Ruskin  ?  I've  got  a  copy  of  '  The  Seven 
Lamps  '  at  the  office,  and  I  can't  keep  away  from 
it.  I  slip  it  into  my  drawer  if  any  one  comes  in, 
like  an  office  boy  reading  the  Police  Gazette.  All 
the  time  I  am  in  the  streets  I  am  looking  at  the 
buildings,  and,  Burton,  this  is  the  extraordinary 
part  of  it,  I  know  no  more  about  architecture  than 
a  babe  unborn,  and  yet  I  can  tell  you  where  they're 
wrong,  every  one  of  them.  There  are  some  streets 
I  can't  pass  through,  and  I  close  my  eyes  whenever 
I  get  near  Buckingham  Palace.  On  the  other  hand, 
I  walked  a  mile  the  other  day  to  see  a  perfect  arch 
down  in  South  Kensington,  and  there  are  some  new 
maisonettes  in  Queen  Anne  Street  without  a  single 
erring  line." 

Burton  poured  himself  out  a  glass  of  wine  from 
the  bottle  which  his  companion  had  ordered. 

"  Mr.  Waddington,"  he  said,  "  this  is  a  queer 
thing  that  has  happened  to  us." 

"  Not  a  soul  would  believe  it,"  the  auctioneer  as- 
sented. "  No  one  will  ever  believe  It.  The  person 
who  declared  that  there  was  nothing  new  under  the 
sun  evidently  knew  nothing  about  these  beans !  " 

Burton  leaned  across  the  table. 

"  Mr.  Waddington,"  he  continued,  "  I  was  around 
at  Idlemay  House  this  morning.  I  went  to  see  what 
had  become  of  the  flower-pot.     I  found  the  little 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  95 

room  swept  bare.  One  of  the  workmen  told  me  that 
the  things  had  been  stolen." 

Mr.  Waddington  showed  some  signs  of  embar- 
rassment.    He  waited  for  his  companion  to  proceed. 

"  I  wanted  the  rest  of  those  beans,"  Burton  con- 
fessed. 

Mr.  Waddington  shook  his  head  slowly. 

**  I  haven't  made  up  my  mind  about  them  yet," 
he  said.     "  Better  leave  them  alone." 

**  You  do  know  where  they  are,  then  ?  "  Burton 
demanded  breathlessly. 

The  auctioneer  did  not  deny  it. 

*'  I  had  them  removed,"  he  explained,  "  in  a  some- 
what peculiar  fashion.  The  fact  of  it  is,  the  new 
tenant  is  a  very  peculiar  man  and  I  did  not  dare 
to  ask  him  to  give  me  that  little  tree.  I  i  imply  did 
not  dare  to  run  the  risk.  It  is  a  painful  subject 
with  me,  this,  because  quite  thoughtlessly  I  endeav- 
ored to  assume  the  appearance  of  anger  on  discov- 
ering the  theft.  The  words  nearly  stuck  in  my 
throat  and  I  was  obliged  to  lie  down  for  an  hour 
afterwards." 

Burton  drew  a  little  breath  of  relief. 

"  I  wish  I'd  asked  you  about  this  before,"  he 
declared.  "I  should  have  enjoyed  my  luncheon  bet- 
ter." 

Mr.  Waddington  coughed. 

"  The  beans,"  he  remarked,  "  are  in  my  posses- 


96  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

sion.  There  are  only  eleven  of  them  and  I  have  not 
yet  made  up  mj  mind  exactly  what  to  do  with  them." 

"  Mr.  Waddington,"  Burton  said  impressively, 
*' have  you  forgotten  that  I  am  a  married  man?" 

Mr.  Waddington  started. 

"  God  bless  my  soul !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  had  for- 
gotten that ! " 

"  A  wife  and  one  little  boy,"  Burton  continued. 
*'  We  were  living  at  Garden  Green  in  a  small  plas- 
tered edifice  called  Clematis  Villa.  My  wife  is  a 
vigorous  woman,  part  of  whose  life  has  been  spent 
in  domestic  service,  and  part  in  a  suburban  dress- 
maker's establishment.  She  keeps  the  house  very 
■clean,  pins  up  the  oleographs  presented  to  us  at 
Christmas  time  by  the  grocer  and  the  oil-man,  and 
thinks  I  look  genteel  in  a  silk  hat  when  we  walk  out 
to  hear  the  band  in  the  public  gardens  on  Thursday 
evenings." 

*'  I  can  see  her ! "  Mr.  Waddington  groaned. 
*'  My  poor  fellow !  " 

"  She  cuts  out  her  own  clothes,"  Burton  contin- 
ued, "  from  patterns  presented  by  a  ladies'  penny 
paper.  She  trims  her  own  hats  with  an  inheritance 
of  feathers  which  in  their  day  have  known  every 
color  of  the  rainbow.  She  loves  strong  perfumes, 
and  she  is  strenuous  on  the  subject  of  the  primary 
colors.  We  have  a  table-cloth  with  fringed  borders 
for  tea  on  Sunday  afternoons.     She  hates  flowers 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  97 

because  they  mess  up  the  rooms  so,  but  she  adorns 
our  parlor  with  wool-work  mementoes,  artificial  roses 
under  a  glass  case,  and  crockery  neatly  inscribed 
with  the  name  of  some  seaside  place." 

Mr.  Waddington  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his 
forehead  and  produced  a  small  silver  casket  from 
his  waistcoat  pocket. 

*'  Stop !  "  he  begged.  "  You  win !  I  can  see  what 
you  are  aiming  at.     Here  is  a  bean.'* 

Burton  waved  it  away. 

"  Listen,"  he  proceeded.  "  I  have  also  a  child  — 
a  little  son.  His  name  is  Alfred.  He  is  called  Alf, 
for  short.  His  mother  greases  his  hair  and  he  has 
a  curl  which  comes  over  his  forehead.  I  have  never 
known  him  when  his  hands  were  not  both  sticky  and 
dirty  —  his  hands  and  his  lips.  On  holidays  he 
wears  a  velveteen  suit  with  grease  spots  inked  over, 
an  imitation  lace  collar,  and  a  blue  make-up  tie." 

Mr.  Waddington  re-opened  the  silver  casket. 

**  It  is  Fate,"  he  decided.     "  Here  are  two  beans." 

Burton  folded  them  up  in  a  piece  of  paper  and 
placed  them  carefully  in  his  waistcoat  pocket. 

*'  I  felt  convinced,"  he  said  gratefully,  "  that  I 
should  not  make  my  appeal  to  you  in  vain.  Tell 
me,  what  do  you  think  of  doing  with  the  rest  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  Mr.  Waddington  admitted, 
after  a  brief  pause.  "  We  are  confronted  from  the 
beginning  with  the  fact  that  there  isn't  a  living  soul 


98  THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

who  would  believe  our  story.  If  we  tried  to  publish 
it,  people  would  only  look  upon  it  as  an  inferior 
sort  of  fiction,  and  declare  that  the  idea  had  been 
used  before.  I  thought  of  having  one  of  the  beans 
resolved  into  its  constituents  by  a  scientific  physi- 
cian, but  I  doubt  if  I'd  get  any  one  to  treat  the  mat- 
ter seriously.  Of  course,"  he  went  on,  "  if  there 
were  any  quantity  of  the  beans,  so  that  we  could 
prove  the  truth  of  our  statements  upon  any  one  who 
professed  to  doubt  them,  we  might  be  able  to  put 
them  to  some  practical  use.  At  present,"  he  con- 
cluded, with  a  little  sigh,  "  I  really  can't  think  of 
any." 

"  When  one  considers,"  Burton  remarked,  "  the 
number  of  people  in  high  positions  who  might  have 
discovered  these  beans  and  profited  by  them,  it  does 
rather  appear  as  though  they  had  been  wasted  upon 
an  auctioneer  and  an  auctioneer's  clerk  who  have  to 
get  their  livings." 

*'  I  entirely  agree  with  you,"  Mr.  Waddington 
assented.  "  I  must  admit  that  in  some  respects  I 
feel  happier  and  life  seems  a  much  more  interesting 
place.  Yet  I  can't  altogether  escape  from  certain 
apprehensions  as  regards  the  future." 

*'  If  you  take  my  advice,"  Burton  said  firmly, 
"  you'll  continue  the  business  exactly  as  you  are 
doing  at  present." 

"  I  have  no  idea  of  abandoning  it,"  Mr.  Wadding- 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  99 

ton  replied.  "  The  trouble  is,  how  long  will  it  be 
before  it  abandons  me?  " 

"  I  have  a  theory  of  my  own  as  to  that,"  Burton 
declared.  "  We  will  not  talk  about  it  at  present  — 
simply  wait  and  see." 

Mr.  Waddlngton  paid  the  bill. 

"  Meanwhile,"  he  said,  "  you  had  better  get  down 
to  Garden  Green  as  quickly  as  you  can.  You  will 
excuse  me  if  I  hurry  off.''  It  is  almost  time  to  start 
the  sale  again." 

Burton  followed  his  host  into  the  street.  The 
sun  was  shining,  and  a  breath  of  perfume  from  the 
roses  in  a  woman's  gown  assailed  him,  as  she  passed 
by  on  the  threshold  to  enter  the  restaurant.  He 
stood  quite  still  for  a  moment.  He  had  succeeded 
in  his  object,  he  had  acquired  the  beans  which  were 
to  restore  to  him  his  domestic  life,  and  in  place  of 
any  sense  of  satisfaction  he  was  conscious  of  an 
intense  sense  of  depression.  What  magic,  after  all, 
could  change  Ellen !  He  forgot  for  one  moment 
the  gulf  across  which  he  had  so  miraculously  passed. 
He  thought  of  himself  as  he  was  now,  and  of  Ellen 
as  she  had  been.  The  memory  of  that  visit  to  Gar- 
den Green  seemed  suddenly  like  a  nightmare.  The 
memory  of  the  train,  underground  for  part  of  the 
way,  with  its  stuffy  odors,  made  him  shiver.  The 
hot,  dusty,  unmade  street,  with  its  hideous  rows  of 
stuccoed  villas,  loomed  before  his  eyes  and  confirmed 


100         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

his  swiftly  born  disinclination  to  taking  at  once  this 
final  and  ominous  step.  Something  all  the  time 
seemed  to  be  drawing  him  in  another  direction,  the 
faint  magic  of  a  fragrant  memory  —  a  dream,  was 
it  —  that  he  had  carried  with  him  unconsciously 
through  a  wilderness  of  empty  days?  He  hesitated, 
and  finally  climbed  up  on  to  the  garden  seat  of  an 
omnibus  on  its  way  to  Victoria. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  loi 


CHAPTER    IX 

THE    lAND    OF    ENCHANTMENT 

"  I  DO  not  think,"  the  girl  with  the  blue  eyes  said, 
diffidently,  "  that  I  gave  you  permission  to  sit  down 
here." 

"  I  do  not  believe,"  Burton  admitted,  "  that  I 
asked  for  it.     Still,  having  just  saved  your  life  —  " 

"  Saved  my  life !  " 

*'  Without  a  doubt,"  Burton  insisted,  firmly. 

She  laughed  in  his  face.  When  she  laughed,  she 
was  good  to  look  upon.  She  had  firm  white  teeth, 
light  brown  hair  which  fell  in  a  sort  of  fringe  about 
her  forehead,  and  eyes  which  could  be  dreamy  but 
were  more  often  humorous.  She  was  not  tall  and 
she  was  inclined  to  be  slight,  but  her  figure  was 
lithe,  full  of  beautiful  spring  and  reach. 

"  You  drove  away  a  cow !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  It 
is  only  because  I  am  rather  idiotic  about  cows  that 
I  happened  to  be  afraid.  I  am  sure  that  it  was  a 
perfectly  harmless  animal." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  he  assured  her  seriously, 
**  there  was  something  in  the  eye  of  that  cow  which 


102         THEDOUBLELIFEOF 

almost  inspired  me  with  fear.     Did  you  notice  the  \ 

way  it  lashed  its  tail?  "  ; 

«  Absurd !  "  I 

"  At   least,"   he    protested,    "  you    cannot   find   it  ] 

absurd   that   I   prefer  to    sit   here  with  you   in   the 
shadow  of  your  lilac  trees,  to  trudging  any  further  ' 

along  that  dusty  road?  " 

"  You  haven't  the  slightest  right  to  be  here  at  1 

all,"  she  reminded  him.     "  I  didn't  even  invite  you 
to  come  in."  i 

He  sighed.  i 

"  Women  have  so  little  sense  of  consequence,"  he 
murmured.     "  When  you  came  in  through  that  gate  i 

without  saying  good-bye,  I  naturally  concluded  that  \ 

I  was  expected  to  follow,  especially  as  you  had  just 
pointed  this  out  to  me  as  being  your  favorite  seat." 

Again  she  laughed.  Then  she  stopped  suddenly 
and  looked  at  him.  He  really  was  a  somewhat  dif- 
ficult person  to  place.  , 

"  If  I  hadn't  a  very  irritable  parent  to  consider,"  j 

she  declared,  "  I  think  I  should  ask  you  to  tea."  | 

Burton  looked  very  sad. 

"  You  need  not  have  put  It  into  my  head,"  he         j 
objected  gently.    *'  The  inn  smells  so  horribly  of  the  | 

beer  that  other  people  have  drunk.     Besides,  I  have  j 

come  such  a  long  way  —  just  for  a  glimpse  of  you." 

It  seemed  to  her  like  a  false  note.     She  frowned. 

"  That,"  she  insisted,  "  is  ridiculous.'*  j 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  103 

"  Is  it?  "  he  murmured.  "  Don't  you  ever,  when 
you  walk  in  your  gardens,  with  only  that  low  wall 
between  you  and  the  road,  wonder  whether  any  of 
those  who  pass  by  may  not  carry  away  a  little 
vision  with  them?  It  is  a  beautiful  setting,  you 
know." 

"  The  people  who  pass  by  are  few,"  she  answered. 
"  We  are  too  far  off  the  beaten  track.  Only  on 
Saturdays  and  holiday  times  there  are  trippers,  fear- 
ful creatures  who  pick  the  bracken,  walk  arm  in 
arm,  and  sing  songs.  Tell  me  why  you  look  as 
though  you  were  dreaming,  my  preserver?  " 

"  Look  along  the  lane,"  he  said  softly.  "  Can't 
you  see  them  —  the  wagonette  with  the  tired  horse 
drawn  up  just  on  the  common  there  —  a  tired,  de- 
jected-looking horse,  with  a  piece  of  bracken  tied 
on  to  his  head  to  keep  the  flies  off?  There  were 
three  men,  two  women  and  a  little  boy.  They  drank 
beer  and  ate  sandwiches  behind  that  gorse  bush  there. 
They  called  one  another  by  their  Christian  names, 
they  shouted  loud  personal  jokes,  one  of  the  women 
sang.  She  wore  a  large  hat  with  dyed  feathers. 
She  had  black,  untidy-looking  hair,  and  her  face 
was  red.  One  of  the  men  made  a  noise  with  his  lips 
as  an  accompaniment.  There  was  the  little  boy, 
too  —  a  pasty-faced  little  boy  with  a  curl  on  his 
forehead,  who  cried  because  he  had  eaten  too  much. 
One  of  the  men  sat  some  distance  apart  from  the 


104         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

others  and  stared  at  you  —  stared  at  you  for  quite 
a  long  time." 

"  I  remember  it  perfectly,"  she  declared.  "  It 
was  last  Whit-Monday.  Hateful  people  they  were, 
all  of  them.  But  how  did  you  know.?  I  saw  nobody 
else  pass  by." 

"  I  was  there,"  he  whispered. 

"  And  I  never  saw  you !  "  she  exclaimed  in  won- 
der. "  I  remember  those  Bank  Holiday  people, 
though,  how  abominable  they  were." 

"  You  saw  me,"  he  insisted  gently.  "  I  was  the 
one  who  sat  apart  and  stared." 

*'  Of  course  you  are  talking  rubbish ! "  she  as- 
serted, uneasily. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  I  was  behind  the  banks  —  the  banks  of  cloud, 
you  know,"  he  went  on,  a  little  wistfully.  "  I  think 
that  that  was  one  of  the  few  moments  in  my  life 
when  I  peered  out  of  my  prison-house.  I  must  have 
known  what  was  coming.  I  must  have  remembered 
afterwards  —  for  I  came  here." 

She  looked  at  him  doubtfully.  Her  eyes  were 
very  blue  and  he  looked  into  them  steadfastly.  By 
degrees  the  lines  at  the  sides  of  her  mouth  began  to 
quiver. 

"  Why,  that  person  was  abominable ! "  she  de- 
clared. "  He  stared  at  me  as  though  I  were  some- 
thing unreal.     He  had  taken  off  his  coat  and  rolled 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  105 

his  shirt  sleeves  up.  He  had  on  bright  yellow  boots 
and  a  hateful  necktie.  You,  indeed!  I  would  as 
soon  believe,"  she  concluded,  "  that  jou  had  fallen 
to-day  from  a  flying-machine." 

"  Let  us  believe  that,"  he  begged,  earnestly. 
"Why  not?  Indeed,  in  a  sense  it  is  true.  I  am 
cut  adrift  from  my  kind,  a  stroller  through  life^ 
a  vagabond  without  any  definite  place  or  people.  I 
am  trying  to  teach  myself  the  simplest  forms  of 
philosophy.  To-day  the  sky  is  so  blue  and  the  wind 
blows  from  the  west  and  the  sun  is  just  hot  enough 
to  draw  the  perfume  from  the  gorse  and  the  heather. 
Come  and  walk  with  me  over  the  moors.  We  will 
race  the  shadows,  for  surely  we  can  move  quicker 
than  those  fleecy  little  morsels  of  clouds !  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  she  retorted,  with  a  firmness 
which  was  suspiciously  emphasized.  "  I  couldn't 
think  of  walking  anywhere  with  a  person  whom  I 
didn't  know !  And  besides,  I  have  to  go  and  make 
tea  in  a  few  minutes." 

He  looked  over  her  shoulder  and  sighed.  A  trim 
parlor  maid  was  busy  arranging  a  small  table  under 
the  cedar  tree. 

"  Tea !  "  he  murmured.      "  It  is  unfortunate." 

"  Not  at  all ! "  she  replied  sharply.  "  If  you'd 
behave  like  a  reasonable  person  for  five  minutes,  I 
might  ask  you  to  stay." 

"  A  little  instruction?  "  he  pleaded.    "  I  am  really 


io6         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

quite  apt.  My  apparent  stupidity  is  only  mislead- 
ing." 

"  You  may  be,  as  you  say,  a  vagabond  and  an 
outcast,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  but  this  is  a 
conventional  English  home,"  the  girl  with  the  blue 
eyes  declared,  "  and  I  am  a  perfectly  well-behaved 
young  woman  with  an  absent-minded  but  strict 
parent.  I  could  not  think  of  asking  any  one  to 
tea  of  whose  very  name  I  was  ignorant." 

He  pointed  to  the  afternoon  paper  which  lay  at 
her  feet. 

"  I  sign  myself  there  '  A  Passer-by.'  My  real 
name  is  Burton.  Until  lately  I  was  an  auctioneer's 
clerk.     Now  I  am  a  drifter  —  what  you  will." 

"  You  wrote  those  impressions  of  St.  James's 
Park  at  dawn  ?  "  she  asked  eagerly. 

"  I  did." 

She  smiled  a  smile  of  relief. 

"  Of  course  I  knew  that  you  were  a  reasonable 
person,"  she  pronounced.  "  Why  couldn't  you  have 
said  so  at  once?     Come  along  to  tea," 

"  Willingly,"  he  replied,  rising  to  his  feet.  "  Is 
this  your  father  coming  across  the  lawn  ^  " 

She  nodded. 

"  He's  rather  a  dear.  Do  you  know  anything 
about  Assyria?  " 

**  Not  a  scrap." 

**  That's  a  pity,"  she  regretted.     "  Come.    Father, 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  107 

this  is  Mr.  Burton.  He  is  very  hot  and  he  is  going 
to  have  tea  with  us,  and  he  wrote  those  impressions 
in  the  Piccadilly  Gazette  which  you  gave  me  to  read. 
My  father  is  an  Oriental  scholar,  Mr.  Burton,  but 
he  is  also  interested  in  modem  things." 

Burton  held  out  his  hand. 

"  I  try  to  understand  London,"  he  said.  "  It  is 
enough  for  me.     I  know  nothing  about  Assyria." 

Mr.  Cowper  was  a  picturesque-looking  old  gentle- 
man, with  kind  blue  eyes  and  long  white  hair. 

"  It  is  quite  natural,"  he  assented.  "  You  were 
born  in  London,  without  a  doubt,  you  have  lived 
there  all  your  days  and  you  write  as  one  who  sees. 
I  was  bom  in  a  library.  I  saw  no  city  till  I  entered 
college.  I  had  fashioned  cities  for  myself  long  be- 
fore then,  and  dwelt  in  them." 

The  girl  had  taken  her  place  at  the  tea-table. 
Burton's  eyes  followed  her  admiringly. 

"  You  were  brought  up  in  the  country?  "  he  asked 
his  host. 

"  I  was  born  in  the  City  of  Strange  Imaginings," 
Mr.  Cowper  replied.  "  I  read  and  read  until  I  had 
learned  the  real  art  of  fancy.  No  one  who  has  ever 
learned  it  needs  to  look  elsewhere  for  a  dwelling 
house.  It  is  the  realism  of  your  writing  which  fas- 
cinates me  so,  Mr.  Burton.  I  wish  you  would  stay 
here  and  write  of  my  garden;  the  moorland,  too, 
is  beautiful." 


io8         THE   DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

"  I  should  like  to  very  much,"  said  Burton. 

Mr.  Cowper  gazed  at  him  in  mild  curiosity. 

"  You  are  a  stranger  to  me,  Mr.  Burton,"  he 
remarked.  "  My  daughter  does  not  often  encourage 
visitors.  Pray  tell  me,  how  did  you  make  her  ac- 
quaintance? " 

"  There  was  a  bull,"  he  commenced,  — • 

"  A  cow,"  she  interrupted  softly. 

"  On  the  moor  outside.  Your  daughter  was  a 
little  terrified.  She  accepted  my  escort  after  I  had 
driven  away  the  —  animal." 

The  old  gentleman  looked  as  though  he  thought 
it  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world. 

"  Dear  me,"  he  said,  "  how  interesting !  Edith, 
the  strawberries  this  afternoon  are  delicious.  You 
must  show  Mr.  —  Mr.  Burton  our  kitchen  gardens. 
Our  south  wall  is  famous." 

This  was  the  whole  miracle  of  how  Alfred  Burton, 
whose  first  appearance  In  the  neighborhood  had  been 
as  an  extremely  objectionable  tripper,  was  accepted 
almost  as  one  of  the  family  in  a  most  exclusive  little 
household.  Edith,  cool  and  graceful,  sitting  back 
in  her  wicker  chair  behind  the  daintily  laid  tea- 
table,  seemed  to  take  it  all  for  granted.  Mr.  Cow- 
per, after  rambling  on  for  some  time,  made  an  ex- 
cuse and  departed  through  the  French  windows  of 
his  library.  Afterwards,  Burton  walked  with  his 
young  hostess  in  the   old-fashioned  walled  garden. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  109 

She  treated  him  with  the  easy  informality  of  privi- 
leged intimacy.  She  had  accepted  him  as  belonging, 
notwithstanding  his  damaging  statements  as  to  his 
antecedents,  and  he  walked  by  the  side  of  his  divin- 
ity without  a  trace  of  awkwardness  or  nervousness. 
This  world  of  Truth  was  indeed  a  world  of  easy 
ways !  .  .  .  The  garden  was  fragrant  with  per- 
fumes ;  the  perfume  of  full-blown  roses  —  great 
pink  and  yellow  and  white  blossoms,  drooping  in 
clusters  from  trees  and  bushes;  of  lavender  from 
an  ancient  bed ;  of  stocks  —  pink  and  purple ;  of 
sweetbriar,  growing  in  a  hedge  beyond.  They 
walked  aimlessly  about  along  the  gravel  paths  and 
across  the  deep  greensward,  and  Burton  knew  no 
world,  nor  thought  of  any,  save  the  world  of  that 
garden.  But  the  girl,  when  they  reached  the  bound- 
ary, leaned  over  the  iron  gate  and  her  eyes  were 
fixed  northwards.  It  was  the  old  story  —  she  sighed 
for  life  and  he  for  beauty.  The  walls  of  her  prison- 
house  were  beautiful  things,  but  not  even  the  lichen 
and  the  moss  and  the  peaches  which  already  hung 
amber  and  red  behind  the  thick  leaves  could  ever 
make  her  wholly  forget  that  they  were,  in  a  sense> 
symbolical  —  the  walls  of  her  life. 

"  To  live  here,"  he  murmured,  "  must  be  like  liv- 
ing in  Paradise !  " 

She  sighed.  There  was  a  little  wistful  droop 
about  her  lips ;   her  eyes  were  still  fixed  northwards. 


no         THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

"  I  should  like,"  he  said,  "  to  tell  you  a  fairy 
story.     It  is  about  a  wife  and  a  little  boy." 

"  Whose  wife  ?  "  she  asked  quickly. 

"  Mine,"  he  replied. 

There  was  a  brief  silence.  A  shadow  had  passed 
across  her  face.  She  was  very  young  and  really 
very  unsophisticated,  and  it  may  be  that  already 
the  idea  had  presented  itself,  however  faintly,  that 
his  might  be  the  voice  to  call  her  into  the  promised 
land.  Certain  it  is  that  after  that  silence  some 
glory  seemed  to  have  passed  from  the  summer  eve- 
ning. 

"  It  is  a  fairy  story  and  yet  it  is  true,"  he  went . 
on,  almost  humbly.     "  Somehow,  no  one  will  believe 
it.    WiUyoutry?" 

"  I  will  try,"  she  promised. 

Afterwards,  he  held  the  two  beans  in  the  palm  of 
his  hand  and  she  turned  them  over  curiously. 

"  Tell  me  again  what  your  wife  is  like  ? "  she 
asked. 

He  told  her  the  pitiless  truth  and  then  there  was 
a  long  silence.  As  he  stood  before  her,  a  little  breath 
of  wind  passed  over  the  garden.  He  came  back  from 
the  world  of  sordid  places  to  the  land  of  enchant- 
ment. There  was  certainly  some  spell  upon  him. 
He  had  found  his  way  into  a  garden  which  lay  be- 
yond the  world.     He  was  conscious  all  at  once  of  a 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  iii 

strange  mixture  of  spicy  perfumes,  a  faint  sense  of 
intoxication,  of  weird,  delicate  emotions  which 
caught  at  the  breath  in  his  throat  and  sent  the  blood 
dancing  through  his  veins,  warmed  to  a  new  and 
wonderful  music.  Her  blue  eyes  were  a  little 
dimmed,  the  droop  of  her  head  a  little  sad.  Quite 
close  to  them  was  a  thick  bed  of  lavender.  He 
looked  at  the  beans  in  his  hand  and  his  eyes  sought 
the  thickest  part  of  the  clustering  mass  of  foliage 
and  blossom.  She  had  lifted  her  eyes  now  and  it 
seemed  to  him  that  she  had  divined  his  purpose  — 
approved  of  it,  even.  Her  slim,  white-clad  body 
swayed  towards  him.  She  appeared  to  have  aban- 
doned finally  the  faint  aloofness  of  her  attitude.  He 
raised  his  hand.  Then  she  stopped  him.  The  mo- 
ment, whatever  its  dangers  may  have  been,  had  passed. 
"  I  do  not  know  whether  your  story  is  an  allegory 
or  not,"  she  said  softly.  "  It  really  doesn't  matter, 
does  it  ?  You  must  come  and  see  me  again  —  after- 
wards." 


3ri2         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 


CHAPTER    X 


NO    KECOXCILIATION 


Burton  travelled  down  to  Garden  Green  on  the 
following  morning  by  the  Tube,  which  he  hated, 
and  walked  along  the  familiar  avenue  with  loathing 
at  his  heart.  There  was  no  doubt  about  Ellen's 
being  at  home.  The  few  feet  of  back  yard  were  full 
of  white  garments  of  unlovely  shape,  recently  washed 
and  fluttering  in  the  breeze.  The  very  atmosphere 
was  full  of  soapsuds.  Ellen  herself  opened  the  door 
to  him,  her  skirts  pinned  up  around  her,  and  a 
clothes-peg  in  her  mouth. 

He  greeted  her  with  an  effort  at  pleasantness. 

"  Good  morning,  Ellen,"  he  said.  "  I  am  glad  to 
find  you  at  home.    May  I  come  in  ?  " 

Ellen  removed  the  clothes-peg  from  her  mouth. 

"  It's  your  own  house,  isn't  it?  "  she  replied,  with 
a  suspicious  little  quiver  In  her  tone.  "  I  don't  sup- 
pose you've  forgotten  your  way  into  the  parlor. 
Keep  well  away  from  me  or  you  may  get  some  soap- 
suds on  your  fine  clothes." 

She  raised  her  red  arms  above  her  head  and  flat- 
tened herself  against  the  wall  with  elaborate  care. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  113 

Burton,  hating  himself  and  the  whole  situation, 
stepped  into  the  parlor.  Ellen  followed  him  as  far 
as  the  threshold. 

*'  What  is  it  you  want  ?  "  she  demanded,  still  re- 
taining one  foot  in  the  passage.  "  I'm  busy.  You 
haven't  forgotten  that  it's  Friday  morning,  have 
you."^  " 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you  for  a  little  while,"  he  said, 
gently.  "  I  have  something  to  propose  which  may 
improve  our  relations." 

Ellen's  attitude  became  one  of  fierce  contempt 
mingled  with  a  slight  tremulousness. 

"  Such  ridiculous  goings-on  and  ways  of  speak- 
ing !  "  she  muttered.  "  Well,  if  you've  anything  to 
say  to  me  you'll  have  to  wait  a  bit,  that's  all.  I've 
got  some  clothes  I  can't  leave  all  in  a  scurry  like 
this.     I'll  send  Alf  in  to  keep  you  company." 

Burton  sighed  but  accepted  his  fate.  For  a  few 
moments  he  sat  upon  the  sofa  and  gazed  around 
at  the  hopeless  little  room.  Then,  in  due  course,  the 
door  was  pushed  open  and  Alfred  appeared,  his  hair 
shiny,  his  cheeks  redolent  of  recent  ablutions,  more 
than  a  trifle  reluctant.  His  conversation  was  lim- 
ited to  a  few  monosyllables  and  a  whoop  of  joy  at 
the  receipt  of  a  shilling.  His  efforts  at  escape  after- 
wards were  so  pitiful  that  Burton  eventually  let 
him  out  of  the  window,  from  which  he  disappeared, 
running  at  full  tilt  towards  a  confectioner's  shop. 


114         THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

Presently  Ellen  returned.  It  was  exceedingly 
manifest  that  her  temporary  absence  had  not  been 
wholly  due  to  the  exigencies  of  her  domestic  occu- 
pation. Her  skirt  was  unpinned,  a  mauve  bow 
adorned  her  throat,  a  scarf  of  some  gauzy  material, 
also  mauve,  floated  around  her  neck.  She  was  wear- 
ing a  hat  with  a  wing,  which  he  was  guiltily  con- 
scious of  having  once  admired,  and  which  she  at- 
tempted, in  an  airy  but  exceedingly  unconvincing 
fashion,  to  explain. 

"  Got  to  go  up  the  street  directly,"  she  said,  jerk- 
ily.    "What  is  it?" 

Burton  had  made  up  his  mind  that  the  fewer  words 
he  employed,  the  better. 

"  Ellen,"  he  began,  "  you  have  perhaps  noticed  a 
certain  change  in  me  during  the  last  few  weeks  ?  " 

Ellen's  bosom  began  to  heave  and  her  eyes  to  flash. 
Burton  hastened  on. 

"  You  will  find  it  hard  to  believe  how  it  all  oc- 
curred," he  continued.  "  I  want  you  to,  though,  if 
you  can.  There  have  been  many  instances  of  diet 
influencing  morals,  but  none  quite  —  " 

"Diet  doing  what.?"  Ellen  broke  in.  "What's 
that?" 

Burton  came  very  straight  to  the  point. 

"  This  change  in  me,"  he  explained  simply,  "  is 
merely  because  I  have  taken  something  which  makes 
it  impossible  for  me  to  say  or  see  anything  but  the 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  115 

absolute  truth.  I  could  not  tell  you  a  falsehood  if 
I  tried.  Wherever  I  look,  or  whenever  I  listen,  I 
can  always  see  or  hear  truth.  I  know  nothing  about 
music,  yet  since  this  thing  happened  it  has  been  a 
wonderful  joy  to  me.  I  can  tell  a  false  note  in  a 
second,  I  can  tell  true  music  from  false.  I  know 
nothing  about  art,  yet  I  can  suddenly  feel  it  and  all 
its  marvels.  You  can  understand  a  little,  perhaps, 
what  this  means.?  A  whole  new  world,  full  of  beau- 
tiful objects  and  inspirations,  has  suddenly  come 
into  my  life." 

Ellen  stared  at  him  blankly. 

*'  Have  you  gone  dotty,  Alfred  ?  "  she  murmured. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  replied  gently.  *'  If  anything,  I  am  a 
great  deal  wiser  than  ever  I  was  before.  Only  there 
are  penalties.  It  is  about  these  penalties  that  I  want 
to  talk  to  you." 

Ellen's  arms  became  crooked  and  her  knuckles 
were  screwed  into  her  waist.  It  was  an  unfortunate 
and  inherited  habit  of  hers,  which  reappeared  fre- 
quently under  circumstances  of  emotion. 

*'  Will  you  answer  this  one  question  ? "  she  in- 
sisted. "  Why  has  all  this  made  you  leave  your  wife 
and  home  ?     Tell  me  that,  will  you  ?  " 

Burton  went  for  his  last  fence  gallantly. 

"  Because  our  life  here  is  hideous,"  he  declared, 
*'  and  I  can't  stand  it.     Our  house  is  ugly,  our  fur- 


Ii6         THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

niture  impossible,  the  neighborhood  atrocious.  Your 
clothes  are  all  wrong  and  so  are  Alfred's.  I  could 
not  possibly  live  here  any  longer  in  the  way  we  have 
been  living  up  to  now." 

Ellen  gave  a  little  gasp. 

"  Then  what  are  you  doing  here  now.''  " 

"  I  cannot  come  back  to  you,"  he  continued.  "  I 
want  you  to  come  to  me.  This  is  the  part  of  my 
story  which  will  sound  miraculous,  if  not  ridiculous 
to  you,  but  you  will  have  to  take  my  word  for  it. 
Try  and  remember  for  a  moment  that  there  are 
things  in  life  beyond  the  pale  of  our  knowledge, 
things  which  we  must  accept  simply  by  faith.  The 
change  which  came  to  me  came  through  eating  a 
sort  of  bean,  grown  by  an  old  man  who  was  brought 
home  from  Asia  by  a  great  scholar.  These  beans 
are  supposed  to  contain  the  germ  of  Truth.  I  have 
two  here  —  one  for  you  and  one  for  Alfred.  I  want 
you  to  eat  them,  and  afterwards,  what  I  hope  and 
believe  is  that  we  shall  see  things  more  the  same  way 
and  come  together  again." 

He  produced  the  beans  from  his  pocket  and  Ellen 
took  a  step  forward.  The  shortness  of  her  breath 
and  the  glitter  in  her  eyes  should  have  warned  him. 
The  greatness  of  his  subject,  however,  had  carried 
him  away.  His  attention  was  riveted  upon  the  beans 
lying  in  the  palm  of  his  hand.  He  looked  at  them 
almost  reverently. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  117 

**  Are  those  the  things  ?  "  she  demanded. 

He  held  them  out  towards  her.  A  faint  pang  of 
regret  stirred  his  heart.  For  a  single  second  the 
picture  of  a  beautiful  garden  glowed  and  faded  be- 
fore his  eyes.  A  wave  of  delicious  perfume  came 
and  went.  The  girl  —  slim,  white-clad  —  looked  at 
him  a  little  wistfully  with  her  sad  blue  eyes.  It  was 
a  mirage  which  passed,  a  mirage  or  some  dear,  van- 
ishing dream. 

"  Take  one  yourself,  Ellen,"  he  directed.  "  Keep 
the  other  one  carefully  for  Alfred." 

She  snatched  them  from  his  hand  and  before  he 
could  stop  her  she  had  thrown  them  out  of  the  open 
window  into  the  street.  He  was,  for  an  instant, 
stricken  dumb. 

"  And  you,"  she  cried  fiercely,  "  you  can  follow 
your  —  beans,  as  soon  as  you  choose !  " 

He  looked  at  her  and  realized  how  completely  he 
had  failed.  She  was  indeed  stirred  to  the  very  depths 
of  her  nature,  but  the  emotion  which  possessed  her 
was  one  of  passionate  and  jealous  anger. 

"  Not  good  enough  for  you  as  we  are,  eh  ?  "  she 
cried.  "  You  don't  like  our  clothes  or  our  manners ! 
You've  got  to  be  a  fine  gentleman  in  five  minutes, 
haven't  you?  We  were  good  enough  for  you  when 
thirty  shillings  a  week  didn't  seem  enough  to  keep 
us  out  of  debt,  and  I  stitched  my  fingers  to  the  bone 
with  odd  bits   of  dressmaking.      Good  enough  for 


ii8         THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

you  then,  my  man,  when  I  cooked  your  dinner, 
washed  your  clothes,  kept  your  house  clean  and  bore 
your  son,  working  to  the  last  moment  till  my  head 
swam  and  my  knees  tottered.  Truth!  Truth,  In- 
deed! What  is  there  but  truth  in  my  life,  I'd  like 
to  know?  Have  I  ever  told  you  a  lie?  Have  I  ever 
looked  at  another  man,  or  let  one  touch  my  fingers, 
since  the  day  when  you  put  that  ring  on?  And  now 
—  take  it  -^  and  get  out !  " 

She  wrenched  her  wedding  ring  from  her  finger 
and  threw  it  upon  the  ground  between  them.  Her 
bosom  was  heaving;  her  cheeks  were  red  and  her 
eyes  glittering.  Several  wisps  of  her  hair  had  been 
unable  to  stand  the  excitement  and  were  hanging 
down.  The  mauve  bow  had  worked  its  way  on  to 
one  side  —  very  nearly  under  her  ear.  There  was 
no  deceit  nor  any  pretence  about  her.  She  was  the 
daughter  of  a  washerwoman  and  a  greengrocer,  and 
heredity  had  triumphantly  asserted  itself.  Yet  as 
he  backed  towards  the  door  before  her  fierce  on- 
slaught. Burton,  for  the  first  time  since  this  new 
thing  had  come,  positively  admired  her. 

"  Ellen,"  he  protested,  "  you  are  behaving  fool- 
ishly. I  wanted  you  and  the  boy  to  understand.  I 
wanted  you  to  share  the  things  which  I  had  found. 
It  was  the  only  way  we  could  be  happy  together." 

"  Alfred  and  I  will  look  after  ourselves  and  our 
own   happiness,"    she   declared,    with   a   little    gulp. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  119 

*'  Other  women  have  lost  their  husbands.  I  can  bear 
it.  Why  don't  you  go?  Don't  you  know  the  way 
out?" 

Burton  offered  his  hand.  She  frankly  scoffed  at 
him. 

"  I  don't  understand  all  that  rigmarole  about 
truth,"  she  concluded,  "  but  I'm  no  sort  of  a  one 
at  pretense.    Outside,  my  man,  and  stay  outside !  " 

She  slammed  the  door.  Burton  found  himself  in 
the  street.  Instinctively  he  felt  that  her  hasty  dis- 
missal was  intended  to  conceal  from  him  the  torrent 
of  tears  which  were  imminent.  A  little  dazed,  he 
still  groped  his  way  to  the  spot  where  Ellen  had 
thrown  the  beans.  A  man  was  there  with  a  fruit 
barrow,  busy,  apparently,  rearranging  his  stock. 
Something  about  his  appearance  struck  Burton  with 
a  chill  premonition.  He  came  to  a  standstill  and 
looked  at  him. 

"  Did  you  wish  to  buy  any  fruit,  sir?  "  the  man 
asked,  in  a  tone  unusually  subdued  for  one  of  his 
class. 

Burton  shook  his  head. 

"  I  was  just  wondering  what  you  were  doing," 
he  remarked. 

The  man  hesitated. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  guvnor,"  he  confessed,  "  I 
was  mixing  up  my  apples  and  bananas  a  bit.  You 
see,  those  at  the  top  were  all  the  best,  and  it  has 


120         THE    DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

been  my  custom  to  add  a  few  from  underneath  there 
—  most  of  them  a  little  going  off.  It  was  the  only 
way,"  he  added  with  a  sigh,  "  that  one  could  make 
a  profit.  I  have  made  up  my  mind,  though,  to  either 
throw  them  away  or  sell  them  separately  for  what 
they  are  worth,  which  isn't  much.  I've  had  enough 
of  deceiving  the  public.  If  I  can't  get  a  living  hon- 
estly with  this  barrow,  I'll  try  another  job." 

"Do  you  happen  to  have  eaten  anything  just 
lately.''  "  Burton  asked  him,  with  a  sinking  heart. 

The  man  looked  at  his  questioner,  for  a  moment, 
doubtfully. 

**  'Ad  my  breakfast  at  seven,"  he  replied.  "  Just 
a  bite  of  bread  and  cheese  since,  with  my  morning 
beer." 

"  Nothing  since  —  not  anything  at  all  ?  "  Burton 
pressed. 

"  I  picked  up  a  funny-colored  bean  and  ate  it, 
a  few  minutes  ago.  Queer  flavor  it  had,  too.  Noth- 
ing else  that  I  can  think  of." 

Burton  looked  at  the  man  and  down  at  his  barrow. 
He  glanced  around  at  the  neighborhood  in  which  he 
had  to  make  a  living.  Then  he  groaned  softly  to 
himself. 

"  Good  luck  to  you !  "  he  murmured,  and  turned 
away. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  121 


CHAPTER    XI 

THE    GATE    INTO    PARADISE 

The  girl  looked  up  from  her  seat  wondeiingly. 
His  coming  had  been  a  little  precipitate.  His  ap- 
pearance, too,  betokened  a  disturbed  mind. 

"  There  is  a  front  door,"  she  reminded  him. 
**  There  are  also  bells." 

*'  I  could  not  wait,"  he  answered  simply.  "  I  saw 
the  flutter  of  your  gown  as  I  came  along  the  lane, 
and  I  climbed  the  wall.  All  the  way  down  I  fancied 
that  you  might  be  wearing  blue." 

A  slight  air  of  reserve  which  she  had  carefully 
prepared  for  him,  faded  away.  What  was  the  use? 
He  was  such  an  extraordinary  person !  It  was  not 
possible  to  measure  him  by  the  usual  standards.  She 
was  obliged  to  smile. 

"  You  find  blue  —  becoming  ?  " 

"  Adorable,"  he  replied,  fervently.  *'  I  have 
dreamed  of  you  in  blue.  You  wore  blue  only  the 
night  before  last,  when  I  wrote  my  little  sketch  of 
*  The  Pavements  of  Bond  Street  on  a  Summer  After- 
noon.' " 

She  pointed  to  the  journal  which  lay  at  her  feetr 


122         THE    DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

**  I  recognized  mjself,  of  course,"  she  declared, 
trying  to  speak  severely.  "  It  was  most  improper 
of  you." 

"  It  was  nothing  of  the  sort,"  he  answered  bluntly. 
**  You  came  into  the  picture  and  I  could  not  keep 
you  out.    You  were  there,  so  you  had  to  stay." 

"  It  was  much  too  flattering,"  she  objected. 

Again  he  contradicted  her. 

"  I  could  not  flatter  if  I  tried,"  he  assured  her. 
"  It  was  just  you." 

She  laughed  softly. 

*'  It  is  so  difficult  to  argue  with  you,"  she  mur- 
mured. **  All  the  same,  I  think  that  it  was  most 
improper.  But  then  everything  you  do  is  improper. 
You  had  no  right  to  climb  over  that  wall,  you  had 
no  right  to  walk  here  with  me  the  other  afternoon, 
even  though  you  had  driven  away  a  tame  cow.  You 
have  no  right  whatever  to  be  here  to-day.  What 
about  your  wife?  " 

"  I  have  been  to  Garden  Green,"  he  announced. 
**  I  offered  her  emancipation,  the  same  emancipation 
as  that  which  I  myself  have  attained.  She  refused 
it  absolutely.     She  is  satisfied  with  Garden  Green." 

"  You  mean,"  the  girl  asked,  "  that  she  refuses 
the  —  the  —  " 

"  Beans,"  he  said.  "  Precisely !  She  did  more 
than  refuse  them  —  she  threw  them  out  of  the  win- 
dow.    She  has  no  imajfination.     From  her  point  of 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  123 

view  I  suppose  she  behaved  in  a  perfectly  natural 
fashion.  She  told  me  to  go  my  own  Way  and  leave 
her  alone." 

Edith  sighed. 

"  It  is  very  unfortunate,"  she  declared,  "  that  you 
were  not  able  to  convince  her." 

"  Is  it  ?  "  he  replied.  "  I  tried  my  best,  and  when 
I  had  failed  I  was  glad." 

She  raised  her  eyes  for  a  moment  but  she  shook 
her  head. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  it  doesn't  make  any  difference, 
does  it?  " 

**  Why  not  ?  It  makes  all  the  difference,"  he  in- 
sisted. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Burton,"  she  expostulated,  making 
room  for  him  to  sit  down  beside  her,  "  I  cannot  pos- 
sibly allow  you  to  make  love  to  me  because  your  wife 
refuses  to  swallow  a  bean !  " 

**  But  she  threw  them  out  of  the  window !  "  he  per- 
sisted. "  She  understood  quite  well  what  she  was 
doing.  Her  action  was  entirely  symbolical.  She 
declared  for  Garden  Green  and  the  vulgar  life." 

For  a  girl  who  lived  in  an  old-fashioned  garden, 
and  who  seemed  herself  to  be  part  of  a  fairy  story, 
Edith  certainly  took  a  practical  view  of  the  situa- 
tion. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  she  murmured,  "  that  the  Divorce 
Courts  have  no  jurisdiction  over  your  case.    You  are 


124         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

therefore  a  married  man,  and  likely  to  continue  a 
married  man.  I  cannot  possibly  allow  you  to  hold 
my  hand." 

His  head  swant  for  a  moment.  She  was  very 
alluring  with  her  pale  face  set  in  its  clouds  of  golden 
hair,  her  faintly  wrinkled  forehead,  her  bewitchingly 
regretful  smile  —  regretful,  yet  in  a  sense  provoca- 
tive. 

"  I  am  in  love  with  you,"  he  declared. 

"  Naturally,"  she  replied.     "  The  question  is  —  " 

She  paused  and  looked  intently  at  the  tip  of  her 
slipper.  It  was  very  small  and  very  pointed  and 
it  was  quite  impossible  to  ignore  the  fact  that  she 
had  a  remarkably  pretty  foot  and  that  she  wore 
white  silk  stockings.  Burton  had  never  known  any 
one  before  who  wore  white  silk  stockings. 

"  I  am  very  much  in  love  with  you,"  he  repeated. 
"  I  cannot  help  it.  It  is  not  my  fault  —  that  is  to 
say,  it  is  as  much  your  fault  as  it  is  mine." 

The  corners  of  her  mouth  twitched. 

"  Is  it?  Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about 
it?" 

"  I  am  going  to  take  you  down  to  the  orchard, 
through  the  little  gate,  and  across  the  plank  into  the 
hayfield,"  he  announced,  boldly.  "  I  am  going  to 
sit  with  you  under  the  oak  tree,  where  we  can  just 
catch  the  view  of  the  moor  through  the  dip  in  the 
hills.     We  will  lean  back  and  watch  the  clouds  — 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  125 

those  little  white,  fleecy,  broken-off  pieces  —  and  I 
will  tell  you  fairy  stories.  We  shall  be  quite  alone 
there  and  perhaps  you  will  let  me  hold  your  hand." 

She  shook  her  head,  gently  but  very  firmly. 

*'  Such  things  are  impossible." 

"  Because  I  have  a  wife  at  Garden  Green  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

*'  Because  you  have  a  wife,  and  because  —  I  had 
really  quite  forgotten  to  mention  it  before,  but  as 
a  matter  of  fact  I  am  half  engaged  to  someone  my- 
self." 

He  went  suddenly  white. 

*'  You  are  not  serious  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Perfectly,"  she  assured  him.  "  I  can't  think 
how  I  forgot  it." 

"  Does  he  come  here  to  see  you  ?  "  Burton  asked, 
jealously. 

"  Not  very  often.     He  has  to  work  hard." 

Burton  leaned  back  in  his  seat.  The  music  of  life 
seemed  suddenly  to  be  playing  afar  off'  —  so  far 
that  he  could  only  dimly  catch  the  strains.  The 
wind,  too,  must  have  changed  —  the  perfume  of  the 
roses  reached  him  no  more. 

"  I  thought  you  understood,"  he  said  slowly. 

She  did  not  speak  again  for  several  moments. 
Then  she  rose  a  little  abruptly  to  her  feet. 

"  You  can  walk  as  far  as  the  hayfield  with  me," 
she  said. 


126         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 

They  passed  down  the  narrow  garden  path  in  sin- 
gle file.  There  had  been  a  storm  in  the  night  and 
the  beds  of  pink  and  white  stocks  lay  dashed  and 
drooping  with  a  weight  of  glistening  rain-drops. 
The  path  was  strewn  with  rose  petals  and  the  air 
seemed  fuller  than  ever  of  a  fresh  and  delicate  fra- 
grance. At  the  end  of  the  garden,  a  little  gate  led 
into  the  orchard.  Side  by  side  they  passed  beneath 
the  trees. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  begged  In  a  low  tone,  "  about  this 
lover  of  yours !  " 

"  There  is  so  little  to  tell,"  she  answered.  "  He 
in  a  member  of  the  firm  who  publish  books  for  my 
father.  He  is  quite  kind  to  us  both.  He  used  to 
come  down  here  more  often,  even,  than  he  does  now, 
and  one  night  he  asked  my  father  whether  he  might 
speak  to  me." 

"  And  your  father.?  " 

*'  My  father  was  very  much  pleased,"  she  contin- 
ued. "  We  have  little  money  and  father  is  not  very 
strong.  He  told  me  that  it  had  taken  a  weight  off 
his  mind." 

*'  How  often  does  he  come.''  "  Burton  asked. 

'*  He  was  here  last  Sunday  week." 

**  Last  Sunday  week !  And  you  call  him  your 
lover!" 

"  No,  I  have  not  called  him  that,"  she  reminded 
him  gently.     "  He  is  not  that  sort  of  man.     Only 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  127 

I  think  that  he  is  the  person  whom  I  shall  marry  — 
some  day." 

"  I  am  sure  that  you  were  beginning  to  like  me/' 
he  insisted. 

She  turned  and  looked  at  him  —  at  his  pale,  eager 
face  with  the  hollow  eyes,  the  tremulous  mouth  — 
a  curiously  negative  and  wholly  indescribable  figure, 
yet  in  some  dim  sense  impressive  through  certain  un- 
spelt  suggestions  of  latent  force.  No  one  could  have 
described  him,  in  those  days,  though  no  one  with 
perceptions  could  have  failed  to  observe  much  that 
was  unusual  in  his  personality. 

*'  It  is  true,"  she  admitted.  "  I  do  like  you.  You 
seem  to  carry  some  quality  with  you  which  I  do  not 
understand.  What  is  it,  I  wonder?  It  is  something 
which  reminds  me  of  your  writing." 

"  I  think  that  it  is  truthfulness,"  he  told  her. 
*'  That  is  no  virtue  on  my  part.  It  is  sheer  necessity. 
I  am  quite  sure  that  if  I  had  not  been  obliged  I  should 
never  have  told  you  that  it  was  I  who  stared  at  you 
from  the  Common  there,  one  of  a  hideous  little  band 
of  trippers.  I  should  not  even  have  told  you  about 
my  wife.     It  is  all  so  humiliating." 

"  It  was  yourself  which  obliged  yourself,"  she 
pointed  out,  —  "I  mean  that  the  truthfulness  was 
part  of  yourself.  Do  you  know,  it  has  set  me  think- 
ing so  often.  If  only  people  realized  how  attractive 
absolute    simplicity,    absolute    candor    is,    the    world 


128         THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

would  be  so  much  easier  a  place  to  live  in,  and  so 
much  more  beautiful !  Life  is  so  full  of  small  shams, 
so  many  imperfectly  hidden  little  deceits.  Even  if 
you  had  not  told  me  this  strange  story  about  your- 
self, I  think  that  I  should  still  have  felt  this  quality 
about  you." 

"  I  should  like,"  he  declared,  "  to  have  you  con- 
ceive a  passion  for  the  truth.  I  should  like  to  have 
you  feel  that  it  was  not  possible  to  live  anyhow  or 
anywhere  else  save  in  its  light.  If  you  really  felt 
that  it  would  be  like  a  guiding  star  to  you  through 
life,  you  would  never  be  able  even  to  consider  mar- 
riage with  a  man  whom  you  did  not  love." 

"  This  evening,"  she  said  slowly,  "  he  Is  coming 
down.  I  was  thinking  it  all  over  this  afternoon.  I 
had  made  up  my  mind  to  say  nothing  about  you. 
Since  you  came,  however,  I  feel  differently.  I  shall 
tell  him  everything." 

"  Perhaps,"  Burton  suggested,  hopefully,  "  he 
may  be  jealous." 

*'  It  is  possible,"  she  assented.  "  He  does  not  seem 
like  that  but  one  can  never  tell." 

"  He  may  even  give  you  up !  " 

She  smiled. 

"  If  he  did,"  she  reminded  him,  "  it  would  not  make 
any  difference." 

"  I  will  not  admit  that,"  he  declared.  "  I  want 
your  love  —  I  want  your  whole  love.    I  want  you  to 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  129 

feel  the  same  things  that  I  feel,  in  the  same  way. 
You  live  in  two  places  —  in  a  real  garden  and  a  fairy 
garden,  the  fairy  garden  of  my  dreams.  I  want  you 
to  leave  the  real  garden  and  let  me  try  and  teach  you 
how  beautiful  the  garden  of  fancies  may  become." 

She  sighed. 

"  Alas ! "  she  said,  "  it  is  because  I  may  not  come 
and  live  always  in  that  fairy  garden  that  I  am  going 
to  send  you  away." 

"  Don't !  "  he  pleaded,  —  "  not  altogether,  at  any 
rate.  Life  is  so  short,  so  pitifully  incomplete.  We 
live  through  so  many  epochs  and  each  epoch  has  its 
own  personality.  It  was  not  I  who  married  Ellen. 
It  was  Burton,  the  auctioneer's  clerk.  I  cannot  carry 
the  burden  of  that  fellow's  asinine  mistakes  upon  my 
shoulders  forever." 

**  I  am  afraid,"  she  murmured,  "  that  however 
clever  the  Mr.  Burton  of  to-day  may  be,  he  will  never 
be  able  to  rid  himself  altogether  of  his  predecessor's 
burdens." 

They  were  leaning  over  the  gate,  looking  into  the 
deserted  hayfield.  The  quiet  of  evening  had  stolen 
down  upon  them.    He  drew  a  little  nearer  to  her. 

"  Dear,"  he  whispered,  "  there  isn't  really  any 
Ellen,  there  isn't  really  any  woman  in  the  world  of 
my  thoughts,  the  world  in  which  I  live,  save  you." 

She  was  almost  in  his  arms.  She  did  not  resist 
but  she  looked  a  little  pitifully  into  his  face. 


130         THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

"  You  will  not  —  please !  "  she  begged. 

Once  more  the  music  passed  away  into  the  clouds. 
It  was  the  gate  into  Paradise  over  which  he  had 
leaned,  but  the  gate  was  locked,  and  as  he  stood  there 
it  seemed  to  grow  higher  and  higher,  until  he  could 
not  even  see  over  the  top.  Almost  roughlj  he  turned 
away. 

"  Quite  right,"  he  muttered.  "  I  must  not  touch 
the  Princess  of  my  fairy  garden.  Only  let  us  go  back 
now,  please.     I  cannot  stay  here  any  longer." 

She  obeyed  at  once.  There  was  a  queer,  pathetic 
little  droop  at  the  corners  of  her  lips,  and  she  avoided 
his  eyes. 

"  Good-bye !  "  he  said. 

His  tone  was  dull  and  spiritless.  Something,  for 
the  moment,  seemed  to  have  passed  from  him.  He 
seemed,  indeed,  to  lack  both  inspiration  and  courage. 
Her  fingers  clung  slightly  to  his.  She  was  praying, 
even,  that  he  might  laugh  to  scorn  her  unspoken 
appeal.  He  moved  a  yard  away  and  stood  looking 
at  her.  Her  heart  began  to  beat  wildly.  Surely  her 
prayer  would  be  granted!  The  light  of  adoration 
was  coming  back  to  his  eyes. 

*'  I  cannot  see  the  truth ! "  he  cried  hoarsely. 
"  You  belong  to  me  —  I  feel  that  you  belong  to  me ! 
You  are  part  of  the  great  life.  I  have  found  you  — 
you  are  mine!    And  yet  ...  I  feel  I  mustn't  touch 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  131 

you.      I    don't   understand.      Perhaps    I    shall   come 
back." 

He  turned  and  hurried  off.  She  watched  him  until 
he  was  a  speck  upon  the  road;  watched  him,  even 
then,  from  among  the  shadows  of  the  trees.  There 
was  a  lump  in  her  throat  and  a  misty  light  in  her 
eyes.  She  had  forgotten  everything  that  had  seemed 
absurd  to  her  in  this  strange  little  romance.  Her  eyes 
and  her  arms,  almost  her  lips,  were  calling  hira  to 
her. 


132         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 


CHAPTER    XII 


A    BOLT    FROM    THE    BLUE 


Bueton's  life  moved  for  a  time  among  the  easy- 
places.  The  sub-editor  of  the  Piccadilly  Gazette,  to 
which  he  still  contributed,  voluntarily  increased  his 
scale  of  pay  and  was  insatiable  in  his  demand  for 
copy.  Burton  moved  into  pleasant  rooms  In  a  sunny 
corner  of  an  old-fashioned  square.  He  sent  Ellen 
three  pounds  a  week  —  all  she  would  accept  —  and 
save  for  a  dull  pain  at  his  heart  which  seldom  left 
him,  he  found  much  pleasure  in  life.  Then  came 
the  first  little  break  In  the  clear  sky.  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton  came  In  to  see  him  one  day  and  Mr.  Waddington 
was  looking  distinctly  worried.  He  was  neatly  and 
tastefully  dressed,  and  his  demeanor  had  lost  all  its 
old  offensiveness.  His  manner,  too,  was  immensely 
Improved.  His  tone  was  almost  gentle.  Neverthe- 
less, there  was  a  perplexed  frown  upon  his  forehead 
and  an  anxious  look  in  his  eyes. 

"Business  all  right,  I  hope?"  Burton  asked  him, 
after  he  had  welcomed  his  late  employer,  installed 
him  In  an  easy  chair  and  pushed  a  box  of  cigarettes 
towards  him. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  133 

"  It  is  better  than  all  right,"  Mr.  Waddington  re- 
plied. "  It  is  wonderful.  We  have  never  had  such 
crowds  at  the  sales,  and  I  have  taken  on  four  more 
clerks  in  the  house-letting  department." 

Burton  laughed  softly.  The  humor  of  the  auc- 
tioneer's position  appealed  to  him  immensely. 

"  I  am  making  money  fast,"  Mr.  Waddington  ad- 
mitted, without  enthusiasm.  "  Another  year  or  two 
of  this  and  I  could  retire  comfortably." 

"  Then  what,"  Burton  asked,  "  is  the  worry  ?  " 

Mr.  Waddington  smoked  vigorously  for  a  moment. 

"  Has  it  ever  occurred  to  you,  Burton,"  he  in- 
quired, "  to  ask  yourself  whether  this  peculiar  state, 
in  which  you  and  I  find  ourselves,  may  be  wholly 
permanent  ?  " 

Burton  was  genuinely  startled.  He  sat  looking  at 
his  visitor  like  one  turned  to  stone.  The  prospect 
called  up  by  that  simple  question  was  appalling.  His 
cigarette  burned  idly  away  between  his  fingers.  The 
shadow  of  fear  lurked  in  his  eyes. 

"  Not  permanent  ? "  he  repeated.  *'  I  never 
thought  of  that.     Why  do  you  ask .''  " 

Mr.  Waddington  scratched  his  chin  thoughtfully. 
It  was  not  a  graceful  proceeding,  and  Burton,  with 
a  sinking  heart,  remembered  that  this  was  one  of  his 
employer's  old  habits.  He  scrutinized  his  visitor 
more  closely.  Although  his  appearance  at  first  sight 
was  immaculate,  there  were  certain  alarming  symp- 


134         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

toms  to  be  noted.  His  linen  collar  was  certainly 
doing  service  for  the  second  time,  and  Burton  no- 
ticed with  dismay  a  slight  revival  of  the  auctioneer's 
taste  for  loud  colors  in  his  shirt  and  socks. 

"  It  was  yesterday  afternoon,"  Mr.  Waddington 
continued.  "  I  was  selling  an  oak  chest.  I  explained 
that  it  was  not  a  genuine  antique  but  that  it  had 
certainly  some  claims  to  antiquity  on  account  of  its 
design.  That  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  very  fair  way  of 
putting  it.  Then  I  saw  a  man,  who  was  very  keen 
on  buying  it,  examining  the  brass  handles.  He 
looked  up  at  me.  *  Why,  the  handles  are  genuine !  * 
he  exclaimed.  '  They're  real  old  brass,  anyway ! ' 
Now  I  knew  quite  well,  Burton,  that  those  handles, 
though  they  were  extraordinarily  near  the  real  thing, 
were  not  genuine.  I  opened  my  mouth  to  tell  him 
so,  and  then,  Burton,  do  you  know  that  I  hesitated.''  " 

"  You  didn't  tell  him  —  that  they  were  genuine !  '* 
Burton  gasped. 

Mr,  Waddington  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  admitted,  "  I  did  not  go  so  far  as  that. 
Still,  it  was  almost  as  great  a  shock  to  me.  I  felt 
a  distinct  impulse  to  tell  him  that  they  were.  A  few 
days  ago,  such  an  idea  would  never  have  entered  my 
head.     It  would  have  been  a  sheer  impossibility." 

"  Anything  else?  " 

Mr.  Waddington  hesitated.  He  seemed  to  be  feel- 
ing the  shame  of  these  avowals. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  135 

"  This  morning,"  he  confessed,  "  I  passed  the  door 
of  the  Golden  Lion  on  my  way  to  the  office.  For  the 
first  time  since  —  you  know  when  —  I  felt  a  desire 
—  a  faint  desire  but  still  it  was  there  —  to  go  in  and 
chaff  Milly  and  have  a  pint  of  beer  in  a  tankard.  I 
didn't  go,  of  course,  but  I  felt  the  impulse,  never- 
theless." 

Burton  had  turned  very  pale. 

"  This,"  he  exclaimed,  "  is  terrible !  What  have 
you  done  with  the  rest  of  the  beans  ?  " 

"  I  have  nine,"  Mr.  Waddington  replied.  "  I 
carry  them  in  my  waistcoat  pocket.  I  am  perfectly 
convinced  now  that  there  is  trouble  ahead,  for  on 
my  way  up  the  stairs  here  I  felt  a  strong  inclination 
to  tell  you  that  I  had  lost  them,  in  case  you  should 
want  any." 

"  It  would  be  only  fair,"  Burton  declared  warmly, 
**  to  divide  them." 

Mr.  Waddington  frowned. 

*'  I  see  no  reason  for  that  at  all,"  he  objected, 
feeling  his  waistcoat  pocket.  "  The  beans  are  in  my 
possession." 

"  But  if  we  are  to  revert  to  our  former  state  of 
barbarism,"  Burton  urged,  "  let  us  at  least  do  so 
together." 

"  You  are  some  time  ahead  of  me,"  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton pointed  out.  "  None  of  these  warnings  have 
come  to  you  yet.     It  may  be  something  wrong  with 


136         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

my  disposition,  or  the  way  I  have  swallowed  my  bean. 
Yours  may  be  a  permanent  affair." 

Burton  hesitated.  Then  he  threw  himself  into  a 
chair  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"  My  time  is  coming,  too !  "  he  confessed  mourn- 
fully. "  I  am  in  the  same  position.  Even  while  you 
were  speaking  just  now,  I  felt  a  strong  desire  to 
deceive  you,  to  invent  some  experience  similar  to 
your  own." 

"Are  you  sure  of  that?"  Mr.  Waddington  asked 
anxiously. 

"  Quite  sure !  "  Burton  groaned. 

"  Then  we  are  both  of  us  in  it,  and  that's  a  fact," 
Mr.  Waddington  affirmed. 

Burton  looked  up. 

*'  About  those  beans  ?  " 

Mr.  Waddington  thought  for  some  few  moments. 

"  I  shall  keep  five  and  give  you  four,"  he  decided. 
*'  It  is  treating  you  very  generously.  I  am  not 
obliged  to  give  you  any  at  all,  you  know.  I  am 
doing  it  because  I  am  good-natured  and  because  we 
are  in  this  thing  together.  If  the  worst  happens, 
you  can  come  back  to  your  old  place  in  the  firm.  I 
dare  say  we  shall  pull  along  somehow." 

Burton  shuddered  from  head  to  foot.  He  saw  it 
all  mapped  out  before  him  —  the  miserable  routine 
of  dull,  undignified  work,  the  whole  intolerable  out- 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  137 

look  of  that  daily  life.  He  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands  to  shut  out  the  prospect. 

"  I  couldn't  come  back ! "  he  muttered.  "  I 
couldn't !  " 

"  That's  all  very  well,"  Mr.  Waddington  objected, 
"  but  if  this  thing  really  passes  off,  you'll  be  only 
too  glad  to.  I  suppose  I  shall  flirt  with  Milly  again, 
and  drink  beer,  give  up  Ruskin  for  the  Sporting 
Times,  wear  loud  clothes,  tell  most  frightful  false- 
hoods when  I  sell  that  terrible  furniture,  and  buy 
another  trotting  horse  to  drive  out  on  Sundays.  Oh, 
Lord!" 

Mr.  Waddington  rose  slowly  to  his  feet.  He  lit 
a  cigarette,  sniffed  it,  and  looked  at  it  disparagingly. 
It  was  very  fine  Turkish  tobacco  and  one  of  Burton's 
extravagances. 

"  I  am  not  sure,  after  all,"  he  declared,  "  that 
there  isn't  more  flavor  in  a  British  cigar." 

Burton  shuddered. 

"  You  had  better  take  a  bean  at  once,"  he  groaned. 
"  Those  cigarettes  are  made  from  the  finest  tobacco 
imported." 

Mr.  Waddington  felt  in  his  waistcoat  pocket  with 
trembling  fingers,  slowly  produced  a  little  silver  box, 
took  out  a  bean  and  crunched  it  between  his  teeth. 
An  expression  of  Immense  relief  at  once  spread  over 
his  features.     He  sniffed  at  his  cigarette  with  an  air 


138  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

of  keen  appreciation,  and  deliberately  handed  over  to 
Burton  his  share  of  the  remaining  beans. 

"  I  am  myself  again,"  he  declared  firmly.  "  I  can 
feel  the  change  already." 

Burton  eyed  him  anxiously. 

"  Cigarette  taste  all  right  now.''  " 

"  Delicious  !  "  Mr.  Waddington  replied.  "  Most 
exquisite  tobacco !  Makes  me  shiver  inside  to  think 
how  I  could  ever  have  smoked  that  other  filthy  rub- 
bish." 

"  No  idea  of  calling  in  at  the  Golden  Lion  on  your 
way  back,  eh.?  "  Burton  persisted. 

Mr.  Waddington's  expression  was  full  of  reproach. 

"  The  very  thought  of  that  place,  with  its  smell 
of  stale  beer  and  those  awful  creatures  behind  the 
bar,  makes  me  shiver,"  he  confessed.  "  I  shall  walk 
for  an  hour  before  lunch  in  Kensington  Gardens. 
If  I  have  a  moment  to  spare  I  shall  run  into  the 
Museum  and  spend  a  little  time  with  the  mosaics. 
What  a  charming  effect  the  sunlight  has  coming 
through  those  trees.  Burton!  I  want  you  to  come 
down  and  see  my  rooms  sometime.  I  have  picked  up 
a  few  trifles  that  I  think  you  would  appreciate." 

"  I  will  come  with  pleasure,"  Burton  replied. 

*'  This  afternoon,  if  you  could  spare  a  few  min- 
utes ?  "  the  auctioneer  suggested.  "  We  might  go 
around  and  look  at  that  Romney  which  has  just  been 
unearthed.      I   have   been   to    Christie's    three   times 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  i3<> 

already  to  see  it,  but  I  should  like  to  take  you. 
There's  something  about  the  face  which  I  don't  quite 
understand.  There  is  a  landscape  there,  too,  just 
sent  up  from  some  country  house,  which  I  think 
would  interest  you." 

Burton  shook  his  head  and  moved  feverishly 
towards  his  desk. 

"  I  am  going  to  work,"  he  declared.  "  You  have 
frightened  me  a  little.  I  must  economize  time.  I 
shall  write  a  novel,  a  novel  of  real  life.  I  must  write 
it  while  I  can  still  see  the  perfect  truth." 


140         THE  DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 


CHAPTER    XIII 


PBOOF    POSITIVE 


Burton  did  not  get  very  far  with  his  novel.  About 
nine  o'clock  on  the  same  evening,  Mr.  Waddington, 
who  was  spending  a  quiet  hour  or  two  with  his  books, 
was  disturbed  by  a  hasty  knock  at  the  door  of  his 
rooms.  He  rose  with  some  reluctance  from  his  chair 
to  answer  the  summons. 

*'  Burton  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

Burton  came  quickly  in.  He  was  paler,  even,  than 
usual,  and  there  were  black  shadows  under  his  eyes. 
There  was  a  change  in  his  face,  indescribable  but 
very  apparent.  His  eyes  had  lost  their  dreamy  look, 
he  glanced  furtively  about  him,  he  had  the  air  of  a 
man  who  has  committed  a  crime  and  fears  detection. 
His  dress  was  not  nearly  so  neat  as  usual.  Mr. 
Waddington,  whose  bachelor  evening  clothes  —  a 
loose  dinner-jacket  and  carefully  tied  black  tie  — 
were  exactly  as  they  should  be,  glanced  dispara- 
gingly at  his  visitor. 

"  My  dear  Burton,"  he  gasped,  "  whatever  is  the 
matter  with  you?    You  seem  all  knocked  over." 

Burton  had  thrown  himself  into  a  chair.     He  was 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  141 

contemplating  the  little  silver  box  which  he  had  drawn 
from  his  pocket. 

"  I've  got  to  take  one  of  these,"  he  muttered, 
*'  that's  all.  When  I  have  eaten  it,  there  will  be  three 
left.  I  took  the  last  one  exactly  two  months  and 
four  days  ago.  At  the  same  rate,  in  just  eight 
months  and  sixteen  days  I  shall  be  back  again  in 
bondage." 

Mr.  Waddington  was  very  much  interested.  He 
was  also  a  little  distressed. 

"  Are  you  quite  sure,"  he  asked,  "  of  your  symp- 
toms.? " 

"  Absolutely  certain,"  Burton  declared  sadly.  "  I 
found  myself  this  evening  trying  to  kiss  my  land- 
lady's daughter,  who  is  not  in  the  least  good-looking. 
I  was  attracted  by  the  programme  of  a  music  hall 
and  had  hard  work  to  keep  from  going  there.  A 
man  asked  me  the  way  to  Leicester  Square  just  now, 
and  I  almost  directed  him  wrongly  for  the  sheer 
pleasure  of  telling  a  lie.  I  nearly  bought  some  ties 
at  an  outfitter's  shop  in  the  Strand  —  such  ties !  It's 
awful  —  awful,  Mr.  Waddington  !  " 

Mr.  Waddington  nodded  his  head  compassionately. 

*'  I  suppose  you  know  what  you're  talking  about,'* 
he  said.  "  You  see,  I  have  already  taken  my  second 
bean  and  to  me  the  things  that  you  have  spoken  of 
seem  altogether  incredible.  I  could  not  bring  myself 
to  believe  that  an  absolute  return  to  those  former 


142  THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

horrible  conditions  would  be  possible  for  either  you 
or  me.  By  the  bye,"  he  added,  with  a  sudden  change 
of  tone,  "  I've  just  managed  to  get  a  photograph 
of  the  Romney  I  was  telling  you  of." 

Burton  waved  it  away. 

"  It  doesn't  interest  me  in  the  least,"  he  declared 
gloomily.  "  I  very  nearly  bought  a  copy  of  Ally 
Sloper  on  my  way  down  here." 

Mr.  Waddington  shivered. 

"  I  suppose  there  is  no  hope  for  you,"  he  said. 
*'  It  is  excessively  painful  for  me  to  see  you  in  this 
state.  On  the  whole,  I  think  that  the  sooner  you  take 
the  bean,  the  better." 

Burton  suddenly  sat  up  in  his  chair. 

"  What  are  those  sheets  of  paper  you  have  on 
the  table.''  "  he  asked  quickly. 

"  They  are  the  sheets  of  paper  left  with  the  little 
flower-pot  in  the  room  of  Idlemay  House,"  Mr.  Wad- 
dington answered.  "  I  was  just  looking  them  through 
and  wondering  what  language  it  was  they  were  writ- 
ten in.  It  is  curious,  too,  that  our  friend  should 
have  only  translated  the  last  few  lines.'* 

Burton  rose  from  his  chair  and  leaned  over  the 
table,  looking  at  them  with  keen  interest. 

"  It  was  about  those  papers  that  I  started  out  to 
come  and  see  you,"  he  declared.  "  There  must  be 
some  way  by  which  we  could  make  the  action  of  these 
beans  more  permanent.     I  propose  that  we  get  the 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  143 

rest  of  the  pages  translated.  We  may  find  them  most 
valuable." 

Mr.  Waddington  was  rather  inclined  to  favor  the 
idea. 

"  I  cannot  think,"  he  admitted,  "  why  it  never  oc- 
curred to  us  before.  Whom  do  you  propose  to  take 
them  to.?" 

"  There  is  some  one  I  know  who  lives  a  little  way 
down  in  the  country,"  Burton  replied.  "  He  is  a 
great  antiquarian  and  Egyptologist,  and  if  any  one 
can  translate  them,  I  should  think  he  would  be  able 
to.  Lend  me  the  sheets  of  manuscript  just  as  they 
are,  and  I  will  take  them  down  to  him  to-morrow. 
It  may  tell  us,  perhaps,  how  to  deal  with  the  plant 
so  that  we  can  get  more  of  the  beans.  Eight  months 
is  no  use  to  me.  When  I  am  like  this,  just  drifting 
back,  everything  seems  possible.  I  can  even  see  my- 
self back  at  Clematis  Villa,  walking  with  Ellen,  listen- 
ing to  the  band,  leaning  over  the  bar  of  the  Golden 
Lion.    Listen !  " 

He  stopped  short.  A  barrel  organ  outside  was 
playing  a  music  hall  ditty.  His  head  kept  time  to  the 
music. 

"I  wish  I  had  my  banjo!"  he  exclaimed,  impul- 
sively. Then  he  shivered.  "  Did  you  hear  that  ?  A 
banjo  !    I  used  to  play  it,  you  know." 

Mr.  Waddlngton  looked  shocked. 

"The   banjo!"    he    repeated.      "Do    you    really 


144  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

mean  that  you  want  to  play  it  at  the  present  mo- 
ment? " 

"  I  do,"  Burton  repHed.  "  If  I  had  it  with  me 
now,  I  should  play  that  tune.  I  should  play  others 
like  it.  Everything  seems  to  be  slipping  away  from 
me.  I  can  smell  the  supper  cooking  in  my  little 
kitchen  at  Clematis  Villa.  Delicious!  My  God,  I 
can't  bear  it  any  longer !    Here  goes !  " 

He  took  a  bean  from  his  pocket  with  trembling 
lingers  and  swallowed  it.  Then  he  leaned  back  in  his 
chair  for  several  moments  with  closed  eyes.  When 
he  opened  them  again,  an  expression  of  intense  relief 
was  upon  his  face. 

"  I  am  coming  back  already,"  he  declared  faintly. 
*'  Thank  Heavens !  Mr.  Waddington,  your  room  is 
charming,  sir.  Japanese  prints,  too !  I  had  no  idea 
that  you  were  interested  in  them.  That  third  one 
is  exquisite.     And  what  a  dado !  " 

*'  Hewlings  himself  designed  it  for  me,'*  Mr.  Wad- 
dington observed,  with  satisfaction.  "  There  are  sev- 
eral things  I  should  like  you  to  notice.  Burton.  That 
lacquer-work  box ! " 

Burton  was  already  holding  it  in  his  fingers  and 
was  gazing  at  it  lovingly. 

"  It  is  perfect,"  he  admitted.  "  What  workman- 
ship! You  are  indeed  fortunate,  Mr.  Waddington. 
And  isn't  that  Mona  Lisa  on  the  walls?  What  a 
beautiful  reproduction  I    I  am  saving  up  money  even 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  145 

now  to  go  to  Paris  to  see  the  original.  Only  a  few 
nights  ago  I  was  reading  Pater's  appreciation  of  it.'* 

He  rose  and  wandered  around  the  room,  making 
murmured  comments  all  the  time.  Presently  he  came 
back  to  the  table  and  glanced  down  at  the  sheets  of 
manuscript. 

"  Mr.  Waddington,"  he  said,  "  let  me  take  these 
to  my  friend.  I  feel  that  the  last  few  hours  must 
have  been  a  sort  of  nightmare,  and  yet  —  " 

He  drew  out  a  little  box  from  his  waistcoat  pocket 
and  peered  inside.    He  was  suddenly  grave. 

"  It  was  no  nightmare,  then,"  he  muttered.  "  I 
have  really  taken  a  bean." 

"  You  took  it  not  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago,"  Mr. 
Waddington  told  him. 

Burton  sighed. 

"  It  is  awful  to  imagine  that  I  should  have  needed 
it,"  he  confessed.  "  There  must  be  some  way  out  of 
this.  You  will  trust  me  with  these  sheets,  Mr.  Wad- 
dington? If  my  friend  in  the  country  can  do  noth- 
ing for  us,  I  will  take  them  to  the  British  Museum." 

"  By  all  means,"  Mr.  Waddington  replied.  "  Take 
care  of  them  and  bring  them  back  safely.  I  should 
like,  if  possible,  to  have  a  written  translation.  It 
should  Indeed  prove  most  interesting." 

Burton  went  out  with  the  musky-smelling  sheets 
in  his  pocket.  All  the  temptations  of  the  earlier  part 
of  the  evening  had  completely  passed   away.      He 


146         THE   DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

walked  slowly  because  a  big  yellow  moon  hung  down 
from  the  sky,  and  because  Mr.  Waddington's  rooms 
were  in  a  neighborhood  of  leafy  squares  and  pic- 
turesque houses.  When  he  came  back  to  the  more 
travelled  ways  he  ceased,  however,  to  look  about  him. 
He  took  a  'bus  to  Westminster  and  returned  to  his 
rooms.  Somehow  or  other,  the  possession  of  the 
sheets  acted  like  a  sedative.  He  felt  a  new  confidence 
in  himself.  The  absurdity  of  any  return  to  his 
former  state  had  never  been  more  established.  The 
remainder  of  the  night  he  spent  in  the  same  way  as 
many  others.  He  drew  his  writing-table  up  to  the 
open  window,  and  with  the  lights  of  the  city  and  the 
river  spread  out  before  him,  and  the  faint  wind  blow- 
ing into  the  room,  he  worked  at  his  novel. 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  147 


CHAPTER    XIV 

THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  PERFECT  FOOD 

A  FORETASTE  of  autumn  had  crept  into  the  midst 
of  summer.  There  were  gray  clouds  in  the  sky,  a 
north  wind  booming  across  the  moors.  Burton  even 
shivered  as  he  walked  down  the  hill  to  the  house  where 
she  lived.  There  was  still  gorse,  still  heather,  still  a 
few  roses  in  the  garden  and  a  glimmering  vision  of 
the  beds  of  other  flowers  in  the  background.  But 
the  sun  which  gave  them  life  was  hidden.  Burton 
looked  eagerly  into  the  garden  and  his  heart  sank. 
There  was  no  sign  there  of  any  living  person.  After 
a  moment's  hesitation,  he  opened  the  gate,  passed  up 
the  neat  little  path  and  rang  the  bell.  It  was  opened 
after  the  briefest  of  delays  by  the  trim  parlor-maid. 

"  Is  your  mistress  at  home?  "  he  asked. 

"  Miss  Edith  has  gone  to  London  for  two  days, 
sir,"  the  girl  announced.  *'  The  professor  is  in  his 
study,  sir." 

Burton  stood  quite  still  for  a  moment.  It  was 
absurd  that  his  heart  should  be  so  suddenly  heavy, 
that  all  the  spring  and  buoyancy  should  have  gone 


148  THE   DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

out  of  life!  For  the  first  time  he  realized  the  direc- 
tion in  which  his  thoughts  had  been  travelling  since 
he  had  left  his  rooms  an  hour  ago.  He  had  to  remind 
himself  that  it  was  the  professor  whom  he  had  come 
to  see. 

Mr.  Cowper  received  him  graciously,  if  a  little 
vaguely.  Burton  wasted  no  time,  however,  in  an- 
nouncing the  nature  of  his  errand.  Directly  he  pro- 
duced the  sheets,  the  professor  became  interested. 
The  faint  odor  which  seemed  shaken  out  from  them 
into  the  room  stimulated  his  curiosity.  He  sniffed 
at  it  with  great  content. 

"  Strange,"  he  remarked,  "  very  strange.  I  haven't 
smelt  that  perfume  since  I  was  with  the  excavators 
at  Chaldea.  A  real  Oriental  flavor,  young  man,  about 
your  manuscript." 

"  There  is  very  little  of  it,"  Burton  said,  —  "  just 
a  page  or  so  which  apparently  the  writer  never  had 
time  to  finish.  The  sheets  came  into  my  hands  in 
rather  a  curious  way,  and  I  should  very  much  like 
to  have  an  exact  translation  of  them.  I  don't  even 
know  what  the  language  Is.  I  thought,  perhaps,  that 
you  might  be  able  to  help  me.  I  will  explain  to  you 
later,  if  you  will  allow  me,  the  exact  nature  of  my 
interest  In  them." 

Mr.  Cowper  took  the  pages  Into  his  hand  with  a 
benevolent  smile.  At  the  first  glance,  however,  his 
expression   changed.     It  was    obvious   that   he   was 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  149 

greatly  interested.  It  was  obvious,  also,  that  he  was 
correspondingly  surprised. 

*'  My  dear  young  man,"  he  exclaimed,  "  my  dear 
Mr.  —  JNIr.  Burton  —  why,  this  is  wonderful !  Where 
did  you  get  these  sheets,  do  you  say?  Are  you  hon- 
estly telling  me  that  they  were  written  within  the  last 
thousand  years  ?  " 

"  Without  a  doubt,"  Burton  replied.  "  They  were 
written  in  London,  a  few  months  ago." 

Mr.  Cowper  was  already  busy  surrounding  himself 
with  strange-looking  volumes.  His  face  displayed 
the  utmost  enthusiasm  in  his  task. 

"  It  is  most  amazing,  this,"  he  declared,  drawing 
a  chair  up  to  the  table.  "  These  sheets  are  written 
in  a  language  which  has  been  dead  as  a  medium  of 
actual  intercourse  for  over  two  thousand  years.  You 
meet  with  it  sometimes  in  old  Egyptian  manuscripts. 
There  was  a  monastery  somewhere  near  the  excava- 
tions which  I  had  the  honor  to  conduct  in  Syria, 
where  an  ancient  prayer-book  contained  several 
prayers  in  this  language.  Literally  I  cannot  trans- 
late this  for  you ;  actually  I  will.  I  can  get  at  the 
sense  —  I  can  get  at  the  sense  quite  well.  But  if  one 
could  only  find  the  man  who  wrote  it!  He  is  the 
man  I  should  like  to  see,  Mr.  Burton.  If  the  pages 
were  written  so  recently,  where  is  the  writer?  " 

"  He  is  dead,"  Burton  replied. 

Mr.  Cowper  sighed. 


ISO  THE    DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

*'  Well,  well,"  he  continued,  starting  upon  his  task 
with  avidity,  "  we  will  talk  about  him  presently.  This 
is  indeed  miraculous.  I  am  most  grateful  —  deeply 
grateful  to  you  —  for  having  brought  me  this  manu- 
script." 

Mr.  Cowper  was  busy  for  the  next  quarter  of  an 
hour.  His  expression,  as  he  turned  up  dictionaries 
and  made  notes,  was  still  full  of  the  liveliest  and 
most  intense  interest.  Presently  he  leaned  back  in 
his  chair.  He  kept  one  hand  upon  the  loose  sheets 
of  manuscript,  while  with  the  other  he  removed  his 
spectacles.     Then  he  closed  his  eyes  for  a  moment. 

"  My  young  friend,"  he  said,  "  did  you  ever  hear 
a  quaint  Asiatic  legend  —  scarcely  a  legend,  perhaps, 
but  a  superstition  —  that  many  and  many  a  wise 
man,  four  thousand  years  ago,  spent  his  nights  and 
his  days,  not  as  our  more  modem  scientists  of  a  few 
hundred  years  ago  have  done,  in  the  attempt  to  turn 
baser  metals  into  gold,  but  in  the  attempt  to  con- 
stitute from  simple  elements  the  perfect  food  for 
man?" 

Burton  shook  his  head.  He  was  somewhat  mys- 
tified. 

"  I  have  never  heard  anything  of  the  sort,"  he 
acknowledged, 

"  The  whole  literature  of  ancient  Egypt  and 
the  neighboring  countries,"  Mr.  Cowper  proceeded, 
"  abounds  with  mystical  stories  of  this  perfect  food. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  151 

It  was  to  come  to  man  in  the  nature  of  a  fruit.  It 
was  to  give  him,  not  eternal  life  —  for  that  was 
valueless  —  but  eternal  and  absolute  understanding, 
so  that  nothing  in  life  could  be  harmful,  nothing  save 
objects  and  thoughts  of  beauty  could  present  them- 
selves to  the  understanding  of  the  fortunate  person 
who  partook  of  it.  These  pages  which  you  have 
brought  to  me  to  translate  are  concerned  with  this 
superstition.  The  writer  claims  here  that  after  cen- 
turies of  research  and  blending  and  grafting,  carried 
on  without  a  break  by  the  priests  of  his  family,  each 
one  handing  down,  together  with  an  inheritance  of 
his  sacerdotal  office,  many  wonderful  truths  respect- 
ing the  growth  of  this  fruit,  —  the  writer  of  these 
lines  claims  here,  that  he,  the  last  of  his  line,  has  suc- 
ceeded in  producing  the  one  perfect  food,  from  which 
everything  gross  is  eliminated,  and  whose  spiritual 
result  upon  a  normal  man  is  such  as  to  turn  him  from 
a  thing  of  clay  into  something  approaching  a  god.'* 

"  Does  he  mention  anything  about  beans?  "  Bur- 
ton asked  anxiously. 

Mr.  Cowper  nodded  benignantly. 

"  The  perfect  food  referred  to,"  he  said,  "  appears 
to  have  been  produced  in  the  shape  of  small  beans. 
They  are  to  be  eaten  with  great  care,  and  to  ensure 
permanency  in  the  results,  a  green  leaf  of  the  little 
tree  is  to  follow  the  consumption  of  the  bean." 

Burton  sprang  to  his  feet. 


152  THE    DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  professor !  "  he  cried.  "  That 
is  the  one  thing  we  were  seeking  to  discover.  The 
leaves,  of  course !  " 

Mr.  Cowper  looked  at  his  visitor  in  amazement. 

**  My  joung  friend,"  he  said,  "  are  you  going  to 
tell  me  that  you  have  seen  one  of  these  beans?  '* 

"  Not  only  that  but  I  have  eaten  one,"  Burton 
announced,  —  "  in  fact  I  have  eaten  two." 

Mr.  Cowper  was  greatly  excited. 

"  Where  are  they.'* "  he  exclaimed.  "  Show  me 
one !  Where  is  the  tree  ?  How  did  the  man  come 
to  write  this.?  Where  did  he  write  it?  Let  me  look 
at  one  of  the  beans !  " 

Burton  produced  the  little  silver  snuff-box  in  which 
he  carried  them.  With  his  left  hand  he  kept  the  pro- 
fessor away. 

"  Mr.  Cowper,"  he  said,  "  I  cannot  let  you  touch 
them  or  handle  them.  They  mean  more  to  me  than 
I  can  tell  you,  yet  there  they  are.  Look  at  them. 
And  let  me  tell  you  this.  That  old  superstition  you 
have  spoken  of  has  truth  in  it.  These  beans  are 
indeed  a  spiritual  food.  They  alter  character.  They 
have  the  most  amazing  effect  upon  a  man's  moral 
system." 

"  Young  man,"  Mr.  Cowper  insisted,  "  I  must  eat 
one." 

Burton  shook  his  head. 

"  Mr.  Cowper,"  he  said,  "  there  are  reasons  why 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  155 

I  find  it  very  hard  to  deny  you  anything,  but  as  re- 
gards those  three  beans,  you  will  neither  eat  one  nor 
even  hold  it  in  your  hand.  Sit  down  and  I  will  tell 
you  a  story  which  sounds  as  though  it  might  have 
happened  a  thousand  years  ago.  It  happened  within 
the  last  three  months.     Listen." 

Burton  told  his  story  with  absolute  sincerity.  The 
professor  listened  with  intense  interest.  It  was  per- 
haps strange  that,  extraordinary  though  it  was,  he 
never  for  one  moment  seemed  to  doubt  the  truth  of 
what  he  heard.  When  Burton  had  finished,  he  rose 
to  his  feet  in  a  state  of  great  excitement. 

"  This  is  indeed  wonderful,"  he  declared.  "  It  is 
more  wonderful,  even,  than  you  can  know  of.  The 
legend  of  the  perfect  food  appears  in  the  manu- 
scripts of  many  centuries.  It  antedates  literature  by 
generations.  There  is  a  tomb  in  the  interior  of  Japan,, 
sacred  to  a  saint  who  for  seventy  years  worked  for 
the  production  of  this  very  bean.  That,  let  me  tell 
you,  was  three  thousand  years  ago.  My  young 
friend,  you  have  indeed  been  favored ! " 

"  Let  me  understand  this  thing,"  Burton  said, 
anxiously.  "  Those  pages  say  that  If  one  eats  a 
green  leaf  after  the  bean,  the  change  wrought  in  one 
will  become  absolutely  permanent  ?  " 

"  That  is  so,"  the  professor  assented.  "  Now  all 
that  you  have  to  do,  is  to  eat  a  green  leaf  from  the 
little  tree.     After  that,  you  will  have  no  more  need 


154  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

of  those  three  beans,  and  you  can  therefore  give  them 
to  me." 

Burton  made  no  attempt  to  produce  his  httle  silver 
box. 

"  First  of  all,"  he  said,  "  I  must  test  the  truth  of 
this.  I  cannot  run  any  risks.  I  must  go  and  eat  a 
leaf.  If  in  three  months  no  change  has  taken  place 
in  me,  I  will  lend  you  a  bean  to  examine.  I  can  do 
no  more  than  that.  Until  this  matter  is  absolutely 
settled,  they  are  worth  more  than  life  itself  to  me." 

Mr.  Cowper  seemed  annoyed. 

"  Surely,"  he  protested,  "  you  are  not  going  to 
ask  me  to  wait  three  months  until  I  can  examine  one 
of  these?  " 

"  Three  months  will  soon  pass,"  Burton  replied. 
*'  Until  that  time  is  up,  I  could  not  part  with  them." 

*'  But  you  can't  imagine,"  the  professor  pleaded, 
*'  how  marvelously  interesting  this  is  to  me.  Re- 
member that  I  have  spent  all  my  life  digging  about 
among  the  archives  and  the  literature  and  the  super- 
stitions of  these  pre-Egyptian  peoples.  You  are  the 
first  man  in  the  world,  outside  a  little  circle  of  fellow- 
workers,  to  speak  to  me  of  this  perfect  food.  Your 
story  as  to  how  it  came  into  your  hands  is  the  most 
amazing  romance  I  have  ever  heard.  It  confirms 
many  of  my  theories.  It  Is  wonderful.  Do  you  real- 
ize what  has  happened.'*     You,  sir,  you  in  your  in- 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  155 

significant  person,"  the  professor  continued,  shaking 
his  finger  at  his  visitor,  "  have  tasted  the  result  of 
thousands  of  years  of  unceasing  study.  Wise  men 
in  their  cells,  before  Athens  was  built,  before  the 
Pyramids  were  conceived,  were  thinking  out  this  mat- 
ter in  strange  parts  of  Egypt,  in  forgotten  parts 
of  Syria  and  Asia.  For  generations  their  dream  has 
been  looked  upon  as  a  thing  elusive  as  the  philoso- 
pher's stone,  the  transmutation  of  metals  —  any  of 
these  unsolved  problems.  For  five  hundred  years  — 
since  the  days  of  a  Russian  scientist  who  lived  on 
the  Black  Sea,  but  whose  name,  for  the  moment,  I 
have  forgotten  —  the  whole  subject  has  lain  dead.  It 
is  indeed  true  that  the  fairy  tales  of  one  generation 
become  the  science  of  the  next.  Our  own  learned  men 
have  been  blind.  The  whole  chain  of  reasoning  is 
so  clear.  Every  article  of  human  food  contains  its 
separate  particles,  affecting  the  moral  as  well  as  the 
physical  system.  Why  should  it  have  been  deemed 
necromancy  to  endeavor  to  combine  these  parts,  to 
evolve  b}'^  careful  elimination  and  change  the  perfect 
food?  In  the  house,  young  man,  which  you  have 
told  me  of,  there  died  the  hero  of  the  greatest  dis- 
covery which  has  ever  been  made  since  the  world 
began  to  spin  upon  its  orbit." 

"Will  Miss  Edith  be  back  to-morrow.?"  Burton 
asked. 


156         THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

The  professor  stared  at  him. 

"  Miss  Edith?  "  he  repeated.  "  Oh !  my  daughter? 
Is  she  not  in  ?  " 

"  She  is  away  for  two  days,  your  servant  told  me," 
Burton  replied. 

"  Perhaps  so  —  perhaps  so,"  the  professor  agreed. 
*'  She  has  gone  to  her  aunt's,  very  likely,  in  Chelsea. 
My  sister  has  a  house  there  in  Bromsgrove  Terrace." 

Burton  rose  to  his  feet.  He  held  out  his  hand  for 
the  manuscript. 

"  I  am  exceedingly  obliged  to  you,"  he  said. 
*'  Now  I  must  go." 

The  professor  gripped  the  manuscript  in  his  hand. 
He  was  no  longer  a  harmless  and  benevolent  old  gen- 
tleman. He  was  like  a  wild  animal  about  to  be  robbed 
of  its  prey. 

*'  No,  no !  "  he  cried.  "  You  must  not  take  these 
away.  You  must  not  think  of  it.  They  are  of  no 
use  to  you.  Leave  me  the  sheets,  just  as  they  are. 
I  will  go  further  back.  There  are  several  words  at 
the  meaning  of  which  I  have  only  guessed.  Leave 
them  with  me  for  a  few  days,  and  I  will  make  you  an 
exact  translation." 

"  Very  well,"  Burton  assented. 

"  And  one  bean  ?  "  the  professor  begged.  "  Leave 
me  one  bean  only  ?  I  promise  not  to  eat  it,  not  to  dis- 
sect it,  not  to  subject  it  to  experiments  of  any  sort. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  157 

Let  me  just  have  it  to  look  at,  to  be  sure  that  what 
you  have  told  me  is  not  an  hallucination." 

Burton  shook  his  head. 

"  I  dare  not  part  with  one.  I  am  going  straight 
back  to  test  the  leaf  theory.  If  it  is  correct,  I  will 
keep  my  promise.  And  —  will  you  remember  me  to 
Miss  Edith  when  she  returns,  professor?  " 

"  To  Miss  Edith.?  Yes,  yes,  of  course,"  Mr.  Cow- 
per  declared,  impatiently.  "  When  shall  you  be  down 
again,  my  young  friend.?  "  he  went  on  earnestly.  "  I 
want  to  hear  more  of  your  experiences.  I  want  you 
to  tell  me  the  whole  thing  over  again.  I  should  like 
to  get  a  signed  statement  from  you.  There  are  sev- 
eral points  in  connection  with  what  you  say,  which 
bear  out  a  favorite  theory  of  mine." 

*'  I  will  come  in  a  few  days,  if  I  may,"  Burton 
assured  him. 

'     The  professor  walked  with  his  guest  to  the  front 
door.    He  seemed  reluctant  to  let  him  go. 

"  Take  care  of  yourself,  Mr.  Burton,"  he  enjoined. 
"Yours  is  a  precious  life.  On  no  account  subject 
yourself  to  any  risks.  Be  careful  of  the  crossings. 
Don't  expose  yourself  to  inclement  weather.  Keep 
away  from  any  place  likely  to  harbor  infectious  dis- 
ease. I  should  very  much  like  to  have  a  meeting  in 
London  of  a  few  of  my  friends,  if  I  could  ensure  your 
presence." 


158         THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

"  When  I  come  down  again,"  Burton  promised, 
*'  we  will  discuss  it." 

He  shook  hands  and  hurried  away.  In  less  than 
an  hour  and  a  half  he  was  in  Mr.  Waddington's 
rooms.     The  latter  had  just  arrived  from  the  office. 

"  Mr.  Waddington,"  Burton  exclaimed,  "  the  little 
tree  on  which  the  beans  grew  —  where  is  it .''  " 

Mr.  Waddington  was  taken  aback. 

"  But  I  picked  all  the  beans,"  he  replied.  "  There 
were  only  the  leaves  left." 

"  Never  mind  that !  "  Burton  cried.  "  It  is  the 
leaves  we  want!  The  tree  —  where  is  it?  Quick! 
I  want  to  feel  myself  absolutely  safe." 

Mr.  Waddington's  face  was  blank. 

"  You  have  heard  the  translation  of  those  sheets  ?  '* 

"  I  have,"  Burton  answered  hastily.  "  I  will  tell 
you  all  about  it  directly  —  as  soon  as  you  have 
brought  me  the  tree." 

Mr.  Waddington  had  turned  a  little  pale. 

"  I  gave  it  to  a  child  in  the  street,  on  my  way  home 
from  Idlemay  House,"  he  declared.  "  There  was  no 
sign  of  any  more  beans  coming  and  I  had  more  than 
enough  to  carry." 

Burton  sank  into  a  chair  and  groaned. 

"  We  are  lost,"  he  exclaimed,  "  unless  you  can  find 
that  child !  Our  cure  is  only  temporary.  We  need 
a  leaf  each  from  the  tree.  I  have  only  eight  months 
and  two  weeks  more !  " 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  159 

Mr.  Waddington  staggered  to  a  seat.  He  pro- 
duced his  own  beans  and  counted  them  eagerly. 

"  A  little  under  eleven  months ! "  he  muttered. 
"  We  must  find  the  tree !  " 


i6o  THE   DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 


CHAPTER    XV 


THE    PROFESSOE    INSISTS 


Crouched  over  his  writing  table,  with  sheets  of 
manuscript  on  every  side  of  him,  Burton  worked  like 
a  slave  at  his  novel.  After  a  week  devoted  by  Mr. 
Waddington  and  himself  to  a  fruitless  search  for 
the  missing  plant,  they  had  handed  the  matter  over 
to  a  private  detective  and  Btirton  had  settled  down 
to  make  the  most  of  the  time  before  him.  Day  after 
day  of  strange  joys  had  dawned  and  passed  away. 
He  had  peopled  his  room  with  shadows.  Edith  had 
looked  at  him  out  of  her  wonderful  eyes,  he  had 
felt  the  touch  of  her  fingers  as  she  had  knelt  by  his 
side,  the  glow  which  had  crept  into  his  heart  as  he 
had  read  to  her  fragments  of  his  story  and  listened 
to  her  words  of  praise.  The  wall  which  he  had  built 
stood  firm  and  fast.  He  lived  in  his  new  days.  Life 
was  all  foreground,  and  hour  by  hour  the  splendid 
fancies  came. 

It  was  his  first  great  effort  at  composition.  Those 
little  studies  of  his,  as  he  had  passed  backwards  and 
forwards  through  the  streets  and  crowded  places,  had 
counted  for  little.     Here  he  was  making  serious  de- 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  i6i 

mands  upon  his  new  capacity.  In  a  sense  it  was  all 
very  easy,  all  very  wonderful,  yet  sometimes  dejection 
came.  Then  his  head  drooped  upon  his  folded  arms, 
he  doubted  himself  and  his  work,  he  told  himself  that 
he  was  living  in  a  fool's  Paradise  —  a  fool's  Paradise 
indeed ! 

One  afternoon  there  came  a  timid  knock  at  his 
door.  He  turned  in  his  chair  a  little  impatiently. 
Then  his  pen  slipped  from  his  fingers.  His  left  hand 
gripped  the  side  of  the  table,  his  right  hand  the  arm 
of  his  chair.     It  was  a  dream,  of  course ! 

*'  I  hope  we  do  not  disturb  you,  Mr.  Burton  ?  " 
the  professor  inquired,  with  anxious  amiability.  "  My 
daughter  and  I  were  in  the  neighborhood  and  I  could 
not  resist  the  visit.  We  had  some  trouble  at  first  in 
finding  you." 

Burton  rose  to  his  feet.  He  was  looking  past  the 
professor,  straight  into  Edith's  eyes.  In  her  white 
muslin  gown,  her  white  hat  and  flowing  white  veil, 
she  seemed  to  him  more  wonderful,  indeed,  than  any 
of  those  cherished  fancies  of  her  which  had  passed 
through  his  room  night  and  day  to  the  music  of  his 
thoughts. 

"  I  am  glad,"  he  said  simply.  "  Of  course  I  am 
glad  to  see  you!  Please  come  in.  It  is  very  untidy 
here.    I  have  been  hard  at  work." 

He  placed  chairs  for  them.  The  professor  glanced 
around  the  room  with  some  satisfaction.    It  was  bare, 


i62         THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

but  there  was  nothing  discordant  upon  the  walls  or 
in  the  furniture.  There  were  many  evidences,  too, 
of  a  scholarly  and  cultivated  taste.  Edith  had  glided 
past  him  to  the  window  and  was  murmuring  her 
praises  of  the  view. 

"  I  have  never  seen  a  prettier  view  of  the  river  in 
my  life,"  she  declared,  "  and  I  love  your  big  window. 
It  is  almost  like  living  out  of  doors,  this.  And  how 
industrious  you  have  been !  " 

She  pointed  to  the  sea  of  loose  sheets  which  cov- 
ered the  table  and  the  floor.  He  smiled.  He  was 
beginning  to  recover  himself. 

"  I  have  been  working  very  hard,"  he  admitted. 

"  But  why  ?  "  she  murmured.  "  You  are  young. 
Surely  there  is  plenty  of  time.''  Is  it  because  the 
thoughts  have  come  to  you  and  you  dared  not  dally 
with  them.''  Or  is  it  because  you  are  like  every  one 
else  —  in  such  a  terrible  hurry  to  become  rich  and 
famous .''  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  It  is  not  that,"  he  said.  "  I  have  no  thought 
of  either.  Alas ! "  he  added,  looking  into  her  eyes, 
"  I  lack  the  great  incentive !  " 

"  Then  why  is  it.''  "  she  whispered. 

"  You  must  not  ask  our  young  friend  too  many 
questions,"  the  professor  interrupted,  a  trifle  impa- 
tiently. **  Tell  me,  Mr.  Burton,  has  there  been  any 
change  —  er  —  in  your  condition  ?  " 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  163 

Burton  shivered  for  a  moment. 

"  None  at  present,"  he  admitted.  "  It  is  scarcely 
Jdue  as  yet." 

Mr.  Cowper  drew  his  chair  a  little  nearer.  His  face 
betokened  the  liveliest  interest.  Edith  stood  in  the 
window  for  a  moment  and  then  sank  into  a  chair  in 
the  background. 

'*  With  reference  to  your  last  remark,"  the  pro- 
fessor went  on,  "  it  has  yet,  I  think,  to  be  proved  that 
these  beans  are  of  equal  potency.  You  understand 
me,  I  am  sure,  Mr.  Burton?  I  mean  that  it  does 
not  in  the  least  follow  that  because  one  of  them  is 
able  to  keep  you  in  an  abnormal  condition  for  two 
months,  the  next  one  will  keep  you  there  for  the  same 
period." 

Burton  was  frankly  startled. 

"  Is  there  anything  about  that  in  the  translation, 
sir?  "  he  asked. 

"  There  is  this  sentence  which  I  will  read  to  you," 
the  professor  pronounced,  drawing  a  roll  of  paper 
from  his  pocket  and  adjusting  his  spectacles.  "  I 
have  now  a  more  or  less  correct  translation  of  the 
sheets  you  left  with  me,  a  copy  of  which  is  at  your 
disposal.  Here  it  is :  —  *  The  formula  is  now  enun- 
ciated and  proved.  The  secret  which  has  defied  the 
sages  of  the  world  since  the  ages  of  twilight,  has 
yielded  itself  to  me,  the  nineteenth  seeker  after  the 
truth  in  one  direct  line.  One  slight  detail  alone  baffles 


i64         THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

me.  So  far  as  I  have  gone  at  present,  the  constituent 
parts,  containing  always  the  same  elements  and  pro- 
ducing, therefore,  the  same  effect,  appear  in  variable 
dimensions  or  potencies,  for  reasons  which  at  present 
elude  me.  Of  my  formula  there  is  no  longer  any 
doubt.  This  substance  which  I  have  produced  shall 
purify  and  make  holy  the  world.*  *' 

The  professor  looked  up  from  his  paper. 

"  Our  interesting  friend,"  he  remarked,  "  seems  to 
have  been  interrupted  at  tliis  point,  probably  by  the 
commencement  of  that  illness  which  had,  unfortu- 
nately, a  fatal  conclusion.  Yet  the  meaning  of  what 
he  writes  is  perfectly  clear.  This  substance,  consol- 
idated, I  believe,  into  what  you  term  a  bean,  is  not 
equally  distributed.  Therefore,  I  take  it  that  you 
may  remain  in  your  present  condition  for  a  longer 
or  shorter  period  of  time.  The  potency  of  the  first 
—  er  —  dose,  is  nothing  to  go  by.  You  have,  how- 
ever, already  learned  how  to  render  your  present  con- 
dition eternal." 

Burton  sighed. 

*'  The  knowledge  came  too  late,"  he  said.  "  The 
tree  had  disappeared.  It  was  given  away,  by  the  Mr. 
Waddington  I  told  you  of,  to  a  child  whom  he  met 
in  the  street." 

"  Dear  me ! "  Mr.  Cowper  exclaimed  gravely. 
"  This  is  most  disappointing.  Is  there  no  chance  of 
recovering  it  ?  " 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  165 

"  We  are  trying,"  Burton  replied.  "  Mr.  Wad- 
dington  has  engaged  a  private  detective  and  we  are 
also  advertising  in  the  papers." 

"  You  have  the  beans  still,  at  any  rate,"  the  pro- 
fessor remarked,  hopefully. 

"  We  have  the  beans,"  Burton  admitted,  "  but  it 
is  very  awkward  not  knowing  how  long  one's  condi- 
tion is  going  to  last.  I  might  go  out  without  my 
beans  one  day,  and  find  myself  assailed  by  all  manner 
of  amazing  inclinations." 

"  My  dear  young  man,"  the  professor  said  ear- 
nestly, "  let  me  point  out  to  you  that  this  is  a  won- 
derful position  in  which  you  have  been  placed.  You 
ought  to  be  most  proud  and  grateful.  Any  trifling 
inconveniences  which  may  result  should  be,  I  venture 
to  say,  utterly  ignored  by  you.  Now  come,  let  me 
ask  you  a  question.  Are  you  feeling  absolutely  your 
—  how  shall  I  call  It  —  revised  self  to-day  ?  " 

"  Absolutely,  thank  Heaven !  "  Burton  declared, 
fervently. 

The  professor  nodded  his  head.  All  the  time  his 
eyes  were  roving  about  Burton's  person,  as  though 
he  were  longing  to  make  a  minute  study  of  his  anat- 
omy. 

*'  It  would  be  most  Interesting,"  he  said,  "  to  trace 
the  commencement  of  any  change  in  your  condition. 
I  am  here  with  a  proposition,  Mr.  Burton.  I  appeal 
to  you  in  the  name  of  science  as  well  as  —  er  —  hos- 


i66         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

pitality.  The  change  might  come  to  you  here  while 
you  are  alone.  There  would  be  no  one  to  remark 
upon  it,  no  one  to  make  those  interesting  and  in- 
structive notes  which,  in  justice  to  the  cause  of  prog- 
ress, should  be  made  by  some  competent  person  such 
as  —  forgive  me  —  myself.  I  ask  you,  therefore,  to 
pack  up  and  return  with  us  to  Leagate.  You  shall 
have  a  study  to  yourself,  my  daughter  will  be  only 
too  pleased  and  proud  to  assist  you  in  your  work, 
and  I  have  also  a  young  female  who  comes  to  type- 
write for  me,  whose  services  you  can  entirely  com- 
mand. I  trust  that  you  will  not  hesitate,  Mr.  Bur- 
ton. We  are  most  anxious  —  indeed  we  are  most 
anxious,  are  we  not,  Edith?  —  to  have  you  come." 

Burton  turned  his  head  and  glanced  toward  the 
girl.  She  had  raised  her  veil.  Her  eyes  met  his,  met 
his  question  and  evaded  it.  She  studied  the  pattern 
of  the  carpet.  When  she  looked  up  again,  her  cheeks 
were  pink. 

"  Mr.  Burton  will  be  very  welcome,"  she  said. 

There  was  a  short  silence  in  the  room.  The  sun- 
shine fell  across  the  dusty  room  in  a  long,  quivering 
shaft.  Outside,  the  branches  of  an  elm  tree  swinging 
in  the  wind  cast  a  shadow  across  the  floor.  The  pro- 
fessor, with  folded  arms,  sat  alert  and  expectant. 
Burton,  pale  and  shrunken  with  the  labors  of  the 
last  ten  days,  looked  out  of  his  burning  eyes  at  the 
girl.     For  a  single  moment  she  had  raised  her  head, 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  167 

had  met  his  fierce  inquiry  with  a  certain  wistful  pa- 
thos, puzzling,  an  incomplete  sentiment.  Now  she, 
too,  was  sitting  as  though  in  an  attitude  of  waiting. 
Burton  felt  his  heart  suddenly  leap.  What  might  lie 
beyond  the  wall  was  of  no  account.  He  was  a  man 
with  only  a  few  brief  months  to  live,  as  he  had  come 
to  understand  life.  He  would  follow  the  eternal  phi- 
losophy. He  would  do  as  the  others  and  make  the 
best  of  them. 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you,"  he  said.  "  I  am  not 
prepared  to  make  a  visit,  —  I  mean  my  clothes,  and 
that  sort  of  thing,  —  but  if  you  will  take  me  as  I  am, 
I  will  come  with  pleasure." 

Mr.  Cowper's  face  showed  the  liveliest  satisfaction. 
Edith,  on  the  other  hand,  never  turned  her  head, 
although  she  felt  Burton's  eyes  upon  her. 

"  Capital !  "  the  professor  declared.  "  Now  do  not 
think  that  we  are  trying  to  abduct  you,  but  there 
is  a  motor-car  outside.  We  are  going  to  take  you 
straight  home.  You  can  have  a  little  recreation  this 
beautiful  afternoon  —  a  walk  on  the  moors,  or  some 
tennis  with  Edith  here.  We  will  try  and  give  you 
a  pleasant  time.  You  must  collect  your  work  now 
and  go  and  put  your  things  together.  We  are  not 
in  the  least  hurry.    We  will  wait." 

Burton  rose  a  little  unsteadily  to  his  feet.  He 
was  weary  with  much  labor,  carried  a  little  away  by 
this  wonderful  prospect  of  living  In  the  same  house, 


i68         THE    DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 
of  having  her  by  his  side  continually.     It  was  too 
amazing  to  realize.     His  heart  gave  a  great  leap  as 
she  moved  towards  him  and  looked  a  little  shyly  into 
his  face. 

"May  I  not  help  you  to  pick  up  these  sheets? 
I  see  that  you  have  numbered  them  all.  I  will  keep 
them  in  their  proper  order.  Perhaps  you  could  trust 
me  to  do  that  while  you  went  and  packed  your  bag?  '* 

"  Quite  right,  my  dear  —  quite  right,"  the  pro- 
fessor remarked,  approvingly.  "  You  will  find  my 
daughter  most  careful  in  such  matters,  Mr.  Burton. 
She  is  used  to  being  associated  with  work  of  impor- 
tance." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  Burton  murmured.  "  If 
you  will  excuse  me,  then,  for  a  few  moments?  " 

"  By  all  means,"  the  professor  declared.  "  And 
pray  suit  yourself  entirely,  Mr.  Burton,  as  to  the 
clothes  you  bring  and  the  preparations  you  make 
for  your  visit.  If  you  prefer  not  to  change  for  the 
evening,  I  will  do  the  same.  I  am  renowned  in  the 
neighborhood  chiefly  for  my  shabbiness  and  my  car- 
pet slippers." 

Burton  paused  on  the  threshold  and  looked  back. 
Edith  was  bending  over  the  table,  collecting  the  loose 
sheets  of  manuscript.  The  sunlight  had  turned  her 
hair  almost  to  the  color  of  flame.  Against  the  back- 
ground of  the  open  window,  her  slim,  delicate  figure. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  169 

clad  in  a  fashionable  mist  of  lace  and  muslin,  seemed 
to  him  like  some  wonderful  piece  of  intensely  modern 
statuary.  Between  them  the  professor  sat,  with  his 
arms  still  folded,  a  benevolent  yet  pensive  smile  upoa 
his  lips. 


170         THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 


CHAPTER    XVI 

ENTER    MR.    BOMFORD  ! 

"  I  HAVE  decided,"  Edith  remarked,  stopping  the 
swinging  of  the  hammock  with  her  foot,  "  to  write 
and  ask  Mr.  Bomford  to  come  and  spend  the  week- 
end here." 

Burton  shook  his  head. 

"  Please  don't  think  of  it,"  he  begged.  "  It  would 
completely  upset  me.  I  should  not  be  able  to  do 
another  stroke  of  work." 

"  You  and  jour  work !  "  Edith  murmured,  looking 
down  at  him.  "  What  about  me.^*  What  is  the  use  of 
being  engaged  if  I  may  not  have  my  fiance  come  and 
see  me  sometimes  ?  " 

"  You  don't  want  him,"  Burton  declared,  confi- 
dently. 

"  But  I  do,"  she  insisted,  "  if  only  to  stop  your 
making  love  to  me." 

"  I  do  not  make  love  to  you,"  he  asserted.  "  I 
am  in  love  with  you.    There  is  a  difference." 

"  But  you  ought  not  to  be  in  love  with  me  —  you 
have  a  wife,"  she  reminded  him. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  171 

"  A  wife  who  lives  at  Garden  Green  does  not 
count,"  he  assured  her.  "  Besides,  it  was  the  other 
fellow  who  married  her.  She  isn't  really  my  wife 
at  all.  It  would  be  most  improper  of  me  to  pretend 
that  she  was." 

"  You  are  much  too  complicated  a  person  to  live 
in  the  same  house  with,"  she  sighed.  "  I  shall  do  as 
I  said.  I  shall  ask  Mr.  Bomford  down  for  the  week- 
end." 

"  Then  I  sh^ll  go  back  to  London,"  he  pronounced, 
firmly. 

A  shadow  fell  across  the  grass. 

"  What's  that  —  what's  that  ?  "  the  professor  de- 
manded, anxiously. 

They  both  looked  up  quickly.  The  professor  had 
just  put  in  one  of  his  unexpected  appearances.  He 
had  a  habit  of  shuffling  about  in  felt  slippers  which 
were  altogether  inaudible. 

"  Miss  Edith  was  speaking  of  asking  a  visitor  — 
a  Mr.  Bomford  —  down  for  the  week-end,"  Burton 
explained  suavely.  "  I  somehow  felt  that  I  should 
not  like  him.  In  any  case,  I  have  been  here  for  a 
week  and  I  really  ought  —  " 

"  Edith  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  the  professor 
declared,  sharply.  "Do  you  hear  that,  Edith?  No 
one  is  to  be  asked  here  at  all.  Mr.  Burton's  con- 
venience is  to  be  consulted  before  any  one's." 

She  yawned  and  made  a  face  at  Burton. 


172  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

"  Very  well,  father,"  she  replied  meekly,  "  only  I 
might  just  as  well  not  be  engaged  at  all." 

"  Just  as  well !  "  the  professor  snapped.  "  Such 
rubbish !  " 

Edith  swung  herself  upright  in  the  hammock,  ar- 
ranged her  skirts,  and  faced  her  father  indignantly. 

"  How  horrid  of  you !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  You 
know  that  I  only  got  engaged  to  please  you,  because 
you  thought  that  Mr.  Bomford  would  take  more  in- 
terest in  publishing  your  books.  If  I  can't  ever  have 
him  here,  I  shall  break  it  off.    He  expects  to  be  asked 

—  I  am  quite  sure  he  does." 

The  professor  frowned  impatiently. 

"  You  are  a  most  unreasonable  child,"  he  declared. 
*'  Mr.  Bomford  may  probably  pay  us  a  passing  visit 
at  any  time,  and  you  must  be  content  with  that." 

Edith  sighed.  She  contemplated  the  tips  of  her 
shoes  for  some  moments. 

"  I  do  seem  to  be  in  trouble  to-day,"  she  remarked, 

—  "  first  with  Mr.  Burton  and  then  with  you." 
The  professor  turned  unsympathetically  away. 

"  You  know  perfectly  well  how  to  keep  out  of  it," 
he  said,  making  his  way  toward  the  house. 

"  Between  you  both,"  Edith  continued,  "  I  really 
am  having  rather  a  hard  time.  This  is  the  last  straw 
of  all.  I  am  deprived  of  my  young  man  now,  just 
to  please  you." 

"  He  isn't  a  young  man,"  Burton  contradicted. 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  173 

Edith  clasped  her  hands  behind  her  head  and  looked 
fixedly  up  at  the  blue  sky. 

"  Never  mind  his  age,"  she  murmured.  "  He  is 
really  very  nice." 

"  I've  seen  his  photograph  in  the  drawing-room," 
Burton  reminded  her. 

Edith  frowned. 

"  He  is  really  much  better  looking  than  that,"  she 
said  with  emphasis. 

"  It  is  perhaps  as  well,"  Burton  retorted,  "  espe- 
cially if  he  is  in  the  habit  of  going  about  unattended." 

Edith  ignored  his  last  speech  altogether. 

"  Mr.  Bomford  is  also,"  she  went  on,  "  extremely 
pleasant  and  remarkably  well-read.  His  manners  are 
charming." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  are  missing  him  so  much,"  Bur- 
ton said. 

"  A  girl,"  Edith  declared,  with  her  head  in  the 
air,  "  naturally  misses  the  small  attentions  to  which 
she  is  accustomed  from  her  fiance." 

"  If  there  is  anything  an  unworthy  substitute  can 
do,"  Burton  began,  — 

"  Nice  girls  do  not  accept  substitutes  for  their 
fiances,"  Edith  interrupted,  ruthlessly.  "  I  am  a  very 
nice  girl  indeed.  I  think  that  you  are  very  lazy  this 
afternoon.  You  would  be  better  employed  at  work 
than  in  talking  nonsense." 

Burton  sighed. 


174         THE    DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

"  I  tried  to  work  this  morning,"  he  declared.  "  I 
gave  up  simply  because  I  found  myself  thinking  of 
you  all  the  time.  Genius  is  so  susceptible  to  diver- 
sions. This  afternoon  I  couldn't  settle  down  because 
I  was  wondering  all  the  time  whether  you  were  wear- 
ing blue  linen  or  white  muslin.  I  just  looked  out  of 
the  window  to  see  —  you  were  asleep  in  the  hammock 
.  ,  .  you  witch !  "  he  murmured  softly.  "  How  could 
I  keep  sane  and  collected!  How  could  I  write  about 
anybody  or  anything  in  the  world  except  you !  The 
wind  was  blowing  those  little  strands  of  hair  over 
your  face.  Your  left  arm  was  hanging  down  —  so ; 
why  is  an  arm  such  a  graceful  thing,  I  wonder? 
Your  left  knee  was  drawn  up  —  you  had  been  sup- 
porting a  book  against  it  and  —  " 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear  another  word,"  Edith  pro- 
tested quickly. 

He  sighed. 

*'  It  took  me  about  thirty  seconds  to  get  down," 
he  murmured.    *'  You  hadn't  moved." 

*'  Shall  we  have  tea  out  here  or  in  the  study.?  " 
Edith  asked. 

"  Anywhere  so  long  as  we  escape  from  this,"  Bur- 
ton replied,  gazing  across  the  lawn.     "  What  is  it?  " 

A  man  was  making  his  way  from  the  house  towards 
them,  a  man  who  certainly  presented  a  somewhat 
singular  appearance.  He  was  wearing  a  long  linen 
duster,  a  motor-cap  which  came  over  his  ears,  and  a 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  175 

pair  of  goggles  which  he  was  busy  removing.  Edith 
swung  herself  on  to  her  feet.  Considering  her  late 
laments,  the  dismay  in  her  tone  was  a  little  astonish- 
ing. 

"  It  is  Mr.  Bomf  ord !  "  she  cried. 

Burton  sighed  —  with  relief. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that  it  is  human,"  he  mur- 
mured. "  I  thought  that  it  was  a  Wells  nightmare 
or  that  something  from  underground  had  been  let 
loose." 

She  shot  an  indignant  glance  at  him.  Her  greet- 
ing of  Mr.  Bomford  was  almost  enough  to  turn  his 
head.    She  held  out  both  her  hands. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  —  my  dear  Paul !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you !  Have  you  motored 
down.f*  " 

*'  Obviously,  my  dear,  obviously,"  the  newcomer  re- 
marked, removing  further  portions  of  his  disguise 
and  revealing  a  middle-aged  man  of  medium  height 
and  unimposing  appearance,  with  slight  sandy  whisk- 
ers and  moustache.  "  A  very  hot  and  dusty  ride  too. 
Still,  after  your  father's  message  I  did  not  hesitate 
for  a  second.  Where  is  he,  Edith.?  Have  you  any 
idea  what  it  is  that  he  wants  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Did  he  send  for  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Send  for  me !  "  Mr.  Bomford  repeated.  "  I 
should  rather  think  he  did." 


376  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

He  looked  inquiringly  towards  Burton.  Edith  in- 
troduced them. 

"This,"  she  said,  "is  Mr.  Burton,  a  friend  of 
father's,  who  is  staying  with  us  for  a  few  days.  He 
is  writing  a  book.  Perhaps,  if  you  are  very  polite 
to  him,  he  will  let  you  publish  it.  Mr.  Bomford  — 
Mr.  Burton." 

The  two  men  shook  hands  solemnly.  Neither  of 
them  expressed  any  pleasure  at  the  meeting. 

"  I  am  sure  you  would  like  a  drink,"  Edith  sug- 
gested. "  Let  me  take  you  up  to  the  house  and  we 
can  find  father.     You  won't  mind,  Mr.  Burton.''  " 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  he  assured  her. 

They  disappeared  into  the  house.  Burton  threw 
himself  once  more  upon  the  lawn,  his  hands  clasped 
behind  his  head,  gazing  upwards  through  the  leafy 
boughs  to  the  blue  sky.  So  this  was  Mr.  Bomford! 
This  was  the  rival  of  whom  he  had  heard!  Not  so 
very  formidable  a  person,  not  formidable  at  all  save 
for  one  thing  only  —  he  was  free  to  marry  her,  free 
to  marry  Edith.  Burton  lay  and  dreamed  in  the 
sunshine.  A  thrush  came  out  and  sang  to  him.  A 
west  wind  brought  him  wafts  of  perfume  from  the 
gardens  below.  The  serenity  of  the  perfect  after- 
noon mocked  his  disturbed  frame  of  mind.  What 
was  the  use  of  it  all?  The  longer  he  remained  here 
the  more  abject  he  became!  .  .  .  Suddenly  Edith  re- 
appeared alone.     She  came  across  the  lawn  to  him 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  177 

with  a  slight  frown  upon  her  forehead.  He  lay  there 
and  watched  her  until  the  last  moment.  Then  he  rose 
and  dragged  out  a  chair  for  her. 

"  So  the  lovers'  interview  is  over !  "  he  ventured  to 
observe.  "  You  do  not  seem  altogether  transported 
with  delight." 

"  I  am  very  much  pleased  indeed  to  see  Mr.  Bom- 
ford,"  she  assured  him. 

"  I,"  he  murmured,  "  am  glad  that  I  have  seen 
him." 

Edith  looked  at  him  covertly. 

"  I  do  not  think,"  she  said,  "  that  I  quite  approve 
of  your  tone  this  afternoon." 

"  I  am  quite  sure,"  he  retorted,  "  that  I  do  not 
approve  of  yours." 

She  made  a  little  grimace  at  him. 

"  Let  us  agree,  then,  to  be  mutually  dissatisfied. 
I  do  wish,"  she  added  softly,  "  that  I  knew  why 
father  had  sent  for  Mr.  Bomford.  It  is  nothing  to 
do  with  his  work,  I  am  sure  of  that.  He  knows 
that  Paul  hates  coming  away  from  the  office  on  week 
days." 

Burton  groaned. 

"  Is  his  name  Paul.''  " 

"  Certainly  it  is,"  she  answered. 

"  It  sounds  very  familiar." 

"  It  is  nothing  of  the  sort ;  when  you  are  engaged 
to  a  person,  you  naturally  call  him  by  his  Christian 


178         THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

name.  I  can't  think,  though,  why  father  didn't  tell 
us  that  he  was  coming." 

"  I  have  an  idea,"  Burton  declared,  "  that  his  com- 
ing has  something  to  do  with  me." 

"With  you.?" 

"  Why  not?  Am  I  not  an  interesting  subject  for 
speculation.?  Mr.  Bomford,  you  told  me  only  a  few 
days  ago,  is  a  scientist,  an  Egyptologist,  a  philoso- 
pher. Why  should  he  not  be  interested  in  the  same 
things  which  interest  your  father.?  " 

"  It  is  quite  true,"  she  admitted.  "  I  had  not 
thought  of  that." 

"  At  the  present  moment,"  Burton  continued, 
moving  a  little  on  one  side,  "  they  are  probably  in 
the  dining-room  drinking  Hock  and  seltzer,  and  your 
father  is  explaining  to  your  fiance  the  phenomenon 
of  my  experiences.  I  wonder  whether  he  will  believe 
them.?" 

"  Mr.  Bomford,"  she  said,  '*  will  believe  anything 
that  my  father  tells  him." 

"Are  you  very  much  in  love.?"  Burton  asked, 
irrelevantly. 

"  You  ask  such  absurd  questions,"  she  replied. 
"  Nowadays,  one  is  never  in  love." 

"  How  little  you  know  of  what  goes  on  nowa- 
days!" he  sighed.  "What  about  myself?  Do  I 
need  to  tell  you  that  I  am  hopelessly  in  love  with 
you.?" 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  179 

"  You,"  she  declared,  "  are  a  phenomenon.  You 
do  not  count." 

The  professor  and  his  guest  came  through  the 
French  window,  arm  in  arm,  talking  earnestly. 

"  Look  at  them !  "  Burton  groaned.  "  They  are 
talking  about  me  —  I  can  tell  it  by  their  furtive  man- 
ner. Mr.  Bomford  has  heard  the  whole  story.  He 
is  a  little  incredulous  but  he  wishes  to  be  polite  to 
his  future  father-in-law.  What  a  pity  that  I  could 
not  have  a  relapse  while  he  is  here !  " 

"  Couldn't  you-f*  "  she  exclaimed.  "  It  would  be 
such  fun !  " 

Burton  shook  his  head. 

"  Nothing  but  the  truth,"  he  declared  sadly. 

Mr.  Bomford,  without  his  motoring  outfit,  was  still 
an  unprepossessing  figure.  He  wore  a  pince-nez ;  his 
manner  was  fussy  and  inclined  to  be  a  little  patroni- 
zing. He  had  the  air  of  an  unsuccessful  pedagogue- 
He  was  obviously  regarding  Burton  with  a  new  in- 
terest. During  tea-time  he  conversed  chiefly  with 
Edith,  who  seemed  a  little  nervous,  and  answered 
most  of  his  questions  with  monosyllables.  Burton 
and  the  professor  were  silent.  Burton  was  watching 
Edith  and  the  professor  was  watching  Burton.  As 
soon  as  the  meal  was  concluded,  the  professor  rose 
to  his  feet. 

"  Edith,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "  we  wish  you  to  leave 


i8o         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

us  for  a  minute  or  two.  Mr.  Bomford  and  I  have 
something  to  say  to  Mr.  Burton." 

Edith,  with  a  shght  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  rose 
to  her  feet.  She  caught  a  glance  from  Burton  and 
turned  at  once  to  her  fiance. 

"Am  I  to  be  taken  for  a  ride  this  evening?  "  she 
asked. 

"  A  little  later  on,  by  all  means,  my  dear  Edith," 
]Mr.  Bomford  declared.  "  A  little  later  on,  certainl}'. 
Your  father  has  kindly  invited  me  to  stay  and  dine. 
It  will  give  me  very  much  pleasure.  Perhaps  we 
could  go  for  a  short  distance  in  —  say  three-quarters 
of  an  hour's  time?  " 

Edith  went  slowly  back  to  the  house.  Burton 
watched  her  disappear.  The  professor  and  ]Mr.  Bom- 
ford drew  their  chairs  a  little  closer.  The  professor 
cleared  his  throat. 

"  Mr.  Burton,"  he  began,  "  Mr.  Bomford  and  I 
have  a  proposition  to  lay  before  you.  May  I  beg 
for  your  undivided  attention  ?  " 

Burton  withdrew  his  eyes  from  the  French  window 
through  which  Edith  had  vanished. 

"  I  am  quite  at  your  service,"  he  answered  quietly. 
**  Please  let  me  hear  exactly  what  it  is  that  you 
have  to  say." 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  i8i 


CHAPTER    XVII 


BURTON    DECLINES 


The  professor  cleared  his  throat. 

"  In  the  first  place,  Mr.  Burton,"  he  said,  "  I  feel 
that  I  owe  you  an  apology.  I  have  taken  a  great 
liberty.  Mr.  Bomford  here  Is  one  of  my  oldest  and 
most  intimate  friends.  I  have  spoken  to  him  of  the 
manuscript  you  brought  me  to  translate.  I  have  told 
him  your  story." 

Mr.  Bomford  scratched  his  side  whiskers  and 
nodded  patronizingly. 

"  It  is  a  very  remarkable  story,"  he  declared,  "  a 
very  remarkable  story  indeed.  I  can  assure  you,  Mr. 
—  Mr.  Burton,  that  I  never  listened  to  anything  so 
amazing.  If  any  one  else  except  my  old  friend  here 
had  told  me  of  it,  I  should  have  laughed.  I  should 
have  dismissed  the  whole  thing  at  once  as  incredible 
and  preposterous.  Even  now,  I  must  admit  that  I 
find  it  almost  impossible  to  accept  the  story  in  its 
entirety." 

Burton  looked  him  coldly  in  the  eyes.  Mr.  Bom- 
ford did  not  please  him. 


i82         THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

"  The  story  is  perfectly  true,"  he  said.  "  There 
is  not  the  shghtest  necessity  for  you  to  beheve  it  — 
in  fact,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  it  does  not  matter 
in  the  least  whether  you  do  or  not." 

"  Mr.  Burton,"  the  professor  interposed,  "  I  beg 
that  you  will  not  misunderstand  Mr.  Bomford.  His 
is  not  a  militant  disbelief,  it  is  simply  a  case  of  sus- 
pended judgment.  In  the  meantime,  assuming  the 
truth  of  what  you  have  told  us  —  and  I  for  one,  you 
must  remember,  Mr.  Burton,  have  every  faith  in  your 
story  —  assuming  its  truth,  Mr.  Bomford  has  made 
a  most  interesting  proposition." 

Burton,  with  half -closed  eyes,  was  listening  to  the 
singing  of  a  thrush  and  watching  the  sunshine  creep 
through  the  dark  foliage  of  the  cedar  trees.  He  was 
only  slightly  interested. 

"  A  proposition  ?  "  he  murmured. 

"  Precisely,"  Mr.  Cowper  assented.  "  We  have  an 
appeal  to  make  to  you,  an  appeal  on  behalf  of  sci- 
ence, an  appeal  on  behalf  of  your  fellow-creatures, 
an  appeal  on  behalf  of  yourself.  Your  amazing  ex- 
perience is  one  which  should  be  analyzed  and  given 
to  the  world." 

"  What  you  want,  I  suppose,"  Burton  remarked, 
"  is  one  of  my  beans." 

"  Exactly,"  the  professor  admitted,  eagerly. 

*'  I  have  already,"  Burton  said,  "  done  my  best  to 
make  you   understand  my   feelings   in   this   matter. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  183 

Those  beans  represent  everything  to  me.  Nothing 
would  induce  me  to  part  with  a  single  one." 

"  We  can  understand  that,"  the  professor  agreed. 
"  We  are  approaching  you  with  regard  to  them  in 
an  altogether  different  manner.  Mr.  Bomford  is  a 
man  of  business.  It  is  our  wish  to  make  you  an 
offer." 

"  You  mean  that  you  would  like  to  buy  one  ?  " 

"  Precisely,"  the  professor  replied.  "  We  are  pre- 
pared to  give  you,  between  us,  a  thousand  pounds  for 
one  of  those  beans." 

Burton  shook  his  head.  The  conversation  ap- 
peared to  be  totally  devoid  of  interest  to  him. 

"  A  thousand  pounds,"  he  said,  "  is,  I  suppose,  a 
great  deal  of  money.  I  have  never  owned  so  much 
in  my  life.  But  money,  after  all,  is  only  valuable 
for  what  it  can  buy.  Each  one  of  my  beans  means 
two  months,  perhaps  more,  of  real  life.  No  money 
could  buy  that." 

"  My  young  friend,"  the  professor  insisted  sol- 
emnly, "  you  are  looking  at  this  matter  from  a  selfish 
point  of  view.  Experiences  such  as  you  have  passed 
through,  belong  to  the  world.  You  are  merely  the 
agent,  the  fortunate  medium,  through  which  they 
have  materialized." 

Burton  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  So  far,"  he  replied,  "  I  owe  no  debt  to  humanity. 
The  longer  I  live  and  the  wiser  I  get,  the  more  I  real- 


i84         THE    DOUBLE    LIFE   OF 

ize  the  absolute  importance  of  self -care.  Individual- 
ism is  the  only  real  and  logical  creed.  No  one  else 
looks  after  your  interests.  No  one  else  in  the  world 
save  yourself  is  of  any  real  account." 

"  A  thousand  pounds,"  Mr.  Bomford  interposed, 
*'  is  a  great  deal  of  money  for  a  young  man  in  your 
position." 

"  It  is  a  very  great  deal,"  Burton  admitted.  "  But 
what  you  and  Mr.  Cowper  both  seem  to  forget  is  the 
very  small  part  that  money  plays  in  the  acquisition 
of  real  happiness.  Money  will  not  buy  the  joy  which 
makes  life  worth  living,  it  will  not  buy  the  power 
to  appreciate,  the  power  to  discriminate.  It  will  not 
buy  taste  or  the  finer  feelings,  without  the  possession 
of  which  one  becomes  a  dolt,  a  thing  that  creeps 
about  the  face  of  the  world.  I  thank  you  for  your 
offer,  professor,  and  Mr.  Bomford,  but  I  have  noth- 
ing to  sell.    If  you  would  excuse  me !  " 

He  half  rose  from  his  chair  but  Mr.  Cowper  thrust 
him  back  again. 

"  We  have  not  finished  yet,  my  dear  Mr.  Burton," 
he  said  eagerly.  "  You  are  making  up  your  mind 
too  hastily." 

"  A  thousand  pounds,"  Mr.  Bomford  repeated, 
condescendingly,  "  is  a  very  useful  sum.  Those  pe- 
culiar gifts  of  yours  may  vanish.  Take  the  advice 
of  a  business  man.  Remember  that  you  will  still  have 
two  or  three  beans  left.     It  is  only  one  we  ask  for. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  185 

I  want  to  put  the  matter  on  as  broad  a  basis  as  pos- 
sible. We  make  our  appeal  on  behalf  of  the  cause 
of  science.    You  must  not  refuse  us." 

Burton  rose  to  his  feet  determinedly. 

*'  Not  only  do  I  refuse,"  he  said,  "  but  it  is  not 
a  matter  which  I  am  inclined  to  discuss  any  longer. 
I  am  sorry  if  you  are  disappointed,  but  my  story  was 
really  told  to  Mr.  Cowper  here  in  confidence." 

He  left  them  both  sitting  there.  He  found  Edith 
in  a  comer  of  the  long  drawing-room.  She  was  pre- 
tending to  read. 

"  Whatever  is  the  matter?  "  she  asked.  "  I  did 
not  expect  you  so  soon.  I  thought  that  Mr.  Bom- 
ford  and  father  wanted  to  talk  to  you." 

*'  So  they  did,"  he  replied.  "  They  made  me  a  fool- 
ish offer.  It  was  Mr.  Bomford's  idea,  I  am  sure, 
not  your  father's.  I  am  tired,  Edith.  Come  and 
walk  with  me." 

She  glanced  out  of  the  window. 

"  I  think,"  she  said  demurely,  "  that  I  am  expected 
to  go  for  a  ride  with  Mr.  Bomford." 

"  Then  please  disappoint  him,"  he  pleaded.  "  I  do 
not  like  your  friend  Mr.  Bomford.  He  is  an  ego- 
tistical and  Ignorant  person.  We  will  go  across  the 
moors,  we  will  climb  our  little  hill.  Perhaps  we  might 
even  wait  there  until  the  sunset." 

"  I  am  quite  sure,"  she  said  decidedly,  "  that  Mr. 
Bomford  would  not  like  that." 


i86         THE   DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

"  What  does  it  matter?  "  he  answered.  "  A  man 
like  Mr.  Bomford  has  no  right  to  have  any  authority 
over  you  at  all.  You  are  of  a  different  clay.  I  am 
sure  that  you  will  never  marry  him.  If  you  will  not 
walk  with  me,  I  shall  work,  and  I  am  not  in  the 
humor  for  work.  I  shall  probably  spoil  one  of  my 
best  chapters." 

She  rose  to  her  feet. 

*'  In  the  interests  of  your  novel ! "  she  murmured. 
"  Come !  Only  we  had  better  go  out  by  the  back 
door." 

Like  children  they  stole  out  of  the  house.  They 
climbed  the  rolling  moorland  till  they  reached  the  hill 
on  the  further  side  of  the  valley.  She  sat  down, 
breathless,  with  her  back  against  the  trunk  of  a  small 
Scotch  fir.  Burton  threw  himself  on  to  the  ground 
by  her  side. 

"  We  think  too  much  always  of  consequences,"  he 
said.  "  After  this  evening,  what  does  anything  mat- 
ter.'' The  gorse  is  a  flaming  yellow;  do  you  see  how 
it  looks  like  a  field  of  gold  there  in  the  distance.'' 
Only  the  haze  separates  it  from  the  blue  sky.  Look 
down  where  I  am  pointing,  Edith.  It  was  there  by 
the  side  of  the  road  that  I  first  looked  into  the  garden 
and  saw  you." 

"  It  was  not  you  who  looked,"  she  objected,  sha- 
king her  head.    "  It  was  the  other  man." 

"  What  part  is  it  that  survives  ?  "  he  asked,  a  little 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  187 

bitterly.  **  Why  should  the  new  man  be  cursed  with 
memory?  Don't  you  think  that  even  then  there  must 
have  been  two  of  me,  one  struggling  against  the 
other  —  one  seeking  for  the  big  things,  one  laying 
hold  of  the  lower?  We  are  all  like  that,  Edith! 
Even  now  I  sometimes  feel  the  tug,  although  it  leads 
in  other  directions." 

"  To  Garden  Green  ?  "  she  murmured. 

**  Never  that,"  he  answered  fiercely,  "  and  you 
know  it.  There  are  lower  heights,  though,  in  the 
most  cultured  of  lives.  There  are  moments  of  mad- 
ness, moments  that  carry  one  off  one's  feet,  which 
come  alike  to  the  slave  and  his  master.  Dear  Edith, 
up  here  one  can  talk.  It  is  such  a  beautiful  world. 
One  can  open  one's  eyes,  one  can  breathe,  one  can 
look  around  him.  It  is  the  joy  of  simple  things, 
the  real  true  joy  of  life  which  beats  in  our  veins. 
Do  you  think  that  we  were  made  for  unhappiness  in 
such  a  world,  Edith?  " 

"  No  !  "  she  whispered,  faintly. 

*'  There  isn't  anything  so  beautiful  to  me  upon 
God's  earth,"  he  continued,  "  as  the  love  in  my  heart 
for  you.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  so  this  evening.  I 
have  brought  you  here  to  tell  you  so  —  to  this  par- 
ticular spot.  Something  tells  me  that  it  may  be  al- 
most our  last  chance.  I  left  those  two  whispering 
upon  the  lawn.  What  is  it  they  are  planning,  I  won- 
der?   That  man  Bomford  is  no  companion  for  your 


i88         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

father.  He  has  given  him  an  idea  about  me  and  my 
story.  What  is  it,  I  wonder?  To  rob  me,  to  throw 
me  out,  to  take  my  treasure  from  me  by  force  ?  " 

*'  You  are  my  father's  guest,"  she  reminded  him 
softly.    "  He  will  not  forget  it." 

"  There  are  greater  things  in  the  world,"  he  went 
on,  "  than  the  obligations  of  hospitality.  There  are 
tides  which  sweep  away  the  landmarks  of  nature  her- 
self. Your  father  is  thirsty  for  knowledge.  This 
man  Bomford  is  his  friend.  There  have  been  more 
crimes  committed  in  the  world  for  lofty  motives  than 
one  hears  of." 

He  leaned  a  little  forward.  They  could  see  the 
smoke  curling  up  from  the  house  below,  its  gardens 
laid  out  like  patchwork,  the  low  house  itself  covered 
with  creepers. 

"  It  was  an  idyll,  that,"  he  went  on.  "  Bomford's 
trail  is  about  the  place  now,  the  trail  of  some  poison- 
ous creature.  Nothing  will  ever  be  the  same.  I  want 
to  remember  this  last  evening.  I  have  looked  upon 
life  from  the  hill  tops  and  I  have  looked  at  it  along 
the  level  ways,  but  I  have  seen  nothing  in  it  so  beau- 
tiful, I  have  felt  nothing  in  it  so  wonderful,  as  my 
love  for  you.  You  were  a  dream  to  me  before,  half 
hidden,  only  partly  realized.  Soon  you  will  be  a 
dream  to  me  again.  But  never,  never,  dear,  since 
the  magic  brush  painted  the  blue  into  the  skies,  the 
purple  on  to  the  heather,  the  green  on  to  the  grass. 


"  Mr.  Bomford,"  he  sighed,  "  is  coming  up  the  hill."    Page  189. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  189 

the  yellow  into  the  gorse,  the  blue  into  your  eyes, 
was  there  any  love  like  mine !  " 

She  leaned  towards  him.  Her  fingers  were  cold 
and  her  voice  trembled. 

*'  You  must  not !  "  she  begged. 

He  smiled  as  he  passed  his  arm  around  her. 

"Are  we  not  on  the  hill  top,  dear.?"  he  said. 
*'  You  need  have  no  fear.  Only  to-night  I  felt  that 
I  must  say  these  things  to  you,  even  though  the  pas- 
sion which  they  represent  remains  as  ineffective  for- 
ever as  the  words  themselves.  I  have  a  feeling,  you 
know,  that  after  to-day  things  will  be  different." 

*'  Why  should  they  be?  "  she  asked.  "  In  any  case, 
your  time  cannot  com.e  yet." 

Once  more  he  looked  dovrnward  into  the  valley. 
Like  a  little  speck  along  the  road  a  motor-car  was 
crawling  along. 

"  It  is  Mr.  Bomford,"  he  said.  *'  He  is  coming 
to  look  for  you." 

She  rose  to  her  feet.  Together  they  stood,  for 
a  moment,  hand  in  hand,  looking  down  upon  the 
flaming  landscape.  The  fields  at  their  feet  were 
brilliant  with  color;  in  the  far  distance  the  haze  of 
the  sea.     Their  fingers  were  locked. 

"  Mr.  Bomford,"  he  sighed,  "  is  coming  up  the 
hill." 

"  Then  I  think,"  she  said  quietly,  "  that  we  had 
better  go  down !  " 


IQO         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 


CHAPTER    XVni 


THE    END    OF    A    DREAM 


DiNNEE  that  evening  was  a  curious  meal,  partly 
constrained,  partly  enlivened  by  strange  little  bursts 
of  attempted  geniality  on  the  part  of  the  professor. 
Mr.  Bomford  told  long  and  pointless  stories  with 
much  effort  and  the  air  of  a  man  who  would  have 
made  himself  agreeable  if  he  could.  Edith  leaned 
back  in  her  chair,  eating  very  little,  her  eyes  large, 
her  cheeks  pale.  She  made  her  escape  as  soon  as 
possible  and  Burton  watched  her  with  longing  eyes  as 
she  passed  out  into  the  cool  darkness.  He  half  rose, 
indeed,  to  follow  her,  but  his  host  and  Mr.  Bomford 
both  moved  their  chairs  so  that  they  sat  on  either 
side  of  him.  The  professor  filled  the  glasses  with 
his  own  hand.  It  was  his  special  claret,  a  wonderful 
wine,  the  cobwebbed  bottle  of  which,  reposing  in  a 
wicker  cradle,  he  handled  with  jealous  care. 

"  Mr.  Burton,"  he  began,  settling  down  in  his 
chair,  "  we  have  been  unjust  to  you,  Mr.  Bomford 
and  I.     We  apologize.     We  ask  your  forgiveness." 

"  Unjust?  "  Burton  murmured. 

"Unjust,"  the  professor  repeated.     "I  allude  to 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  191 

this  with  a  certain  amount  of  shame.  We  made  you 
an  offer  of  a  thousand  pounds  for  a  portion  of  that 
—  er  —  peculiar  product  to  which  you  owe  this  won- 
derful change  in  your  disposition.  We  were  in  the 
wrong.  We  had  thoughts  in  our  mind  which  we 
should  have  shared  with  you.  It  was  not  fair,  Mr. 
Burton,  to  attempt  to  carry  out  such  a  scheme  as 
Mr.  Bomford  here  had  conceived,  without  including 
you  in  it." 

The  professor  nodded  to  himself,  amiably  satisfied 
with  his  words.  Burton  remained  mystified.  Mr. 
Bomford  took  up  the  ball. 

"  We  yielded,  Mr.  Burton,"  he  said,  "  to  the  nat- 
ural impulse  of  all  business  men.  We  tried  to  make 
the  best  bargain  we  could  for  ourselves.  A  little 
reflection  and  —  er  —  your  refusal  of  our  offer,  has 
brought  us  into  what  I  trust  you  will  find  a  more 
reasonable  frame  of  mind.  We  wish  now  to  treat 
you  with  the  utmost  confidence.  We  wish  to  lay  our 
whole  scheme  before  you." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  Burton  declared, 
a  little  wearily.  "  You  want  one  of  my  beans,  for 
which  you  offered  a  certain  sum  of  money.  I  am 
sorry.  I  would  give  you  one  if  I  could,  but  I  cannot 
spare  it.  They  are  all  that  stand  between  me  and  a 
relapse  into  a  state  of  being  which  I  shudder  to  con- 
template. Need  we  discuss  it  any  further.-*  I  think, 
if  you  do  not  mind  —  " 


192         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 

He  half  rose  to  his  feet,  his  eyes  were  searching 
the  shadows  of  the  garden.  The  professor  pulled 
him  down. 

"  Be  reasonable,  Mr.  Burton  —  be  reasonable,"  he 
begged.     "  Listen  to  what  Mr.  Bomford  has  to  say." 

Mr.  Bomford  cleared  his  throat,  scratched  his  chin 
for  a  moment  thoughtfully,  and  half  emptied  his  glass 
of  claret. 

"  Our  scheme,  my  young  friend,"  he  said  conde- 
scendingly, "  is  worthy  even  of  your  consideration. 
You  are,  I  understand,  gifted  with  some  powers  of 
observation  which  you  have  turned  to  lucrative  ac- 
count. It  has  naturally  occurred  to  you,  then,  in 
your  studies  of  life,  that  the  greatest  accumulations 
of  wealth  which  have  taken  place  during  the  present 
generation  have  come  entirely  through  discoveries, 
which  either  nominally  or  actually  have  affected  the 
personal  well-being  of  the  individual.  Do  I  make 
myself  clear?  " 

*'  I  have  no  doubt,"  Burton  murmured,  "  that  I 
shall  understand  presently." 

"  Once  convince  a  man,"  Mr.  Bomford  continued, 
**  that  you  are  offering  him  something  which  will 
Improve  his  health,  and  he  is  yours,  or  rather  his 
money  is  —  his  two  and  sixpence  or  whatever  partic- 
ular sum  you  may  have  designed  to  relieve  him  of. 
It  is  for  that  reason  that  you  see  the  pages  of  the 
magazines  and  newspapers  filled  with  advertisements 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  193 

of  new  cures  for  ancient  diseases.  There  is  more 
money  in  the  country  than  there  has  ever  been,  but 
there  are  just  the  same  number  of  real  and  fancied 
diseases.  Mankind  is,  if  possible,  more  credulous  to- 
day than  at  any  epoch  during  our  history.  There 
are  millions  who  will  snatch  at  the  slightest  chance 
of  getting  rid  of  some  real  or  fancied  ailment.  Great 
journals  have  endeavored  to  persuade  us  that  you  can 
attain  perfect  health  by  standing  on  your  head  in 
the  bathroom  for  ten  minutes  before  breakfast.  A 
million  bodies,  distorted  into  strange  shapes,  can  be 
seen  every  morning  in  the  domestic  bed-chamber.  A 
health-food  made  from  old  bones  has  been  one  of  the 
brilliant  successes  of  this  generation.  Now  listen  to 
my  motto.  This  is  what  I  want  to  bring  home  to 
every  inhabitant  of  this  country.  This  is  what  I 
want  to  see  in  great  black  type  in  every  newspaper, 
on  every  hoarding,  and  if  possible  flashed  at  night 
upon  the  sky:  *  Cure  the  mind  first;  the  mind  will 
cure  the  body*  That,"  Mr.  Bomford  concluded, 
modestly,  "  is  my  idea  of  one  of  our  preliminary  ad- 
vertisements." 

The  professor  nodded  approvingly.  Burton 
glanced  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  two  men  with 
an  air  of  almost  pitiful  non-comprehension.  Mr. 
Bomford,  having  emptied  his  glass  of  claret,  started 
afresh. 

"  My  idea,  in  short,"  he  went  on,  "  is  this.     Let 


194         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

us  three  join  forces.  Let  us  analyze  this  marvelous 
product,  into  the  possession  of  which  you,  Mr.  Bur- 
ton, have  so  mysteriously  come.  Let  us,  blending  its 
constituents  as  nearly  as  possible,  place  upon  the 
market  a  health-food  not  for  the  body  but  for  the 
mind.  You  follow  me  now,  I  am  sure.''  Menti-cul- 
ture  is  the  craze  of  the  moment.  It  would  become  the 
craze  of  the  million  but  for  a  certain  vagueness  in 
its  principles,  a  certain  lack  of  appeal  to  direct  ener- 
gies. We  will  preach  the  cause.  We  will  give  the 
public  something  to  buy.  We  will  ask  them  ten  and 
sixpence  a  time  and  they  will  pay  it  gladly.  What 
is  more,  Mr.  Burton,  the  public  will  pay  it  all  over 
the  world.  America  will  become  our  greatest  market. 
Nothing   like   this   has   ever  before   been    conceived, 

*  Leave  your  bodies  alone  for  a  time,'  we  shall  say. 

*  Take  our  food  and  improve  your  moral  system.' 
We  shall  become  the  crusaders  of  commerce.  Your 
story  will  be  told  in  every  quarter  of  the  globe,  it 
will  be  translated  into  every  conceivable  tongue. 
Your  picture  will  very  likely  adorn  the  lid  of  our. 
boxes.  It  will  be  a  matter  for  consideration,  indeed, 
whether  we  shall  not  name  this  great  discovery  after 
you." 

"  So   it  was   for  this,"   Burton   exclaimed,   "  that 
you  offered  me  that  thousand  pounds ! " 

"  We  were  to  blame,"  Mr.  Bomf  ord  admitted. 
"  Very  much  to  blame,"  the  professor  echoed. 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  195 

"  Nevertheless,"  Mr.  Bomford  insisted,  "  it  is  an 
incident  which  you  must  forget.  It  is  man's  first 
impulse,  is  it  not,  to  make  the  best  bargain  he  can 
for  himself.''  We  tried  it  and  failed.  For  the  future 
we  abandon  all  ideas  of  that  sort,  Mr.  Burton.  We 
associate  j^ou,  both  nominally  and  In  effect,  with  our 
enterprise,  in  which  we  will  be  equal  partners.  The 
professor  will  find  the  capital,  I  will  find  the  com- 
mercial experience,  you  shall  hand  over  the  bean.  I 
promise  you  that  before  five  years  have  gone  by,  you 
shall  be  possessed  of  wealth  beyond  any  dreams  you 
may  ever  have  conceived." 

Burton  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

*'  But  I  have  never  conceived  any  dreams  of  wealth 
at  all,"  he  objected.  "  I  have  no  desire  whatever  to 
be  rich.  Wealth  seems  to  me  to  be  only  an  addi- 
tional excitement  to  vulgarity.  Besides,  the  posses- 
sion of  wealth  in  itself  tends  to  an  unnatural  state 
of  existence.  Man  is  happy  only  if  he  earns 
the  money  which  buys  for  him  the  necessaries  of 
life." 

Mr.  Bomford  listened  as  one  listens  to  a  lunatic. 
Mr.  Cowper,  however,  nodded  his  head  in  kindly 
toleration. 

"  Thoughts  like  that,"  he  admitted,  "  have  come 
to  me,  my  young  friend,  in  the  seclusion  of  my  study. 
They  have  come,  perhaps,  in  the  inspired  moments, 
but  in  the  inspired  moments  one  is  not  living  that 


196         THE   DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

every-day  and  necessary  life  which  is  forced  upon 
us  by  the  conditions  of  existence  in  this  planet. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  whole  scheme  of  life  so  great 
as  money.  With  it  you  can  buy  the  means  of  grati- 
fying every  one  of  those  unnatural  desires  with 
which  Fate  has  endowed  us.  Take  my  case,  for 
instance.  If  this  wealth  comes  to  me,  I  shall  spend 
no  more  upon  what  I  eat  or  drink  or  wear,  yet,  on 
the  other  hand,  I  shall  gratify  one  of  the  dreams  of 
my  life.  I  shall  start  for  the  East  with  a  search 
party,  equipped  with  every  modem  invention  which 
the  mind  of  man  has  conceived.  I  shall  go  from 
site  to  site  of  the  ruined  cities  of  Egypt.  No  one 
can  imagine  what  treasures  I  may  not  discover.  I 
shall  even  go  on  to  a  part  of  Africa  —  but  I  need 
not  weary  you  with  this.  I  simply  wanted  you  to 
understand  that  the  desire  for  wealth  is  not  neces- 
sarily vulgar." 

Burton  yawned  slightly.  His  eyes  sought  once 
more  the  velvety  shadows  which  hung  over  the  lawn. 
He  wondered  down  which  of  those  dim  avenues  she 
had  passed. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  he  said  apologetically.  "  You 
are  a  man  of  business,  Mr.  Bomford,  and  you,  pro- 
fessor, see  much  further  into  life  than  I  can,  but 
I  do  not  wish  to  have  anything  whatever  to  do  with 
your  scheme.  It  does  not  appeal  to  me  in  the  least 
—  in  fact  it  offends  me.     It  seems  crassly  vulgar,  a 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  197 

vulgar  way  of  attaining  to  a  position  which  I,  per- 
sonally, should  loathe." 

He  rose  to  his  feet. 

*'  If  you  will  excuse  me,  professor,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Bomford,  with  a  greater  show  of  vigor  than 
he  had  previously  displayed,  jumped  up  and  laid  his 
hand  upon  the  young  man's  shoulder.  His  hard  face 
seemed  suddenly  to  have  become  the  rioting  place 
for  evil  passions.  His  lips  were  a  little  parted  and 
his  teeth  showed  unpleasantly. 

"  Do  you  mean,  young  man,"  he  exclaimed,  "  that 
you  refuse  to  join  us.''  " 

"  That  is  what  I  intended  to  convey,"  Burton  re- 
phed  coldly. 

"  You  refuse  either  to  come  into  our  scheme  or 
to  give  us  one  of  the  beans.''  " 

Burton  nodded. 

*'  I  hold  them  in  trust  for  myself." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Mr.  Bomford 
seemed  to  be  struggling  for  words.  The  professor 
was  looking  exceedingly  disappointed. 

"  Mr.  Burton,"  he  protested,  "  I  cannot  help  feel- 
ing a  certain  amount  of  admiration  for  your  point 
of  view,  but,  believe  me,  you  are  entirely  in  the 
wrong.     I  beg  that  you  will  think  this  matter  over." 

"  I  am  sure  that  it  would  be  useless,"  Burton 
replied.  "  Nothing  would  induce  me  to  change  my 
mind." 


198         THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

"  Nothing?  "  Mr.  Bomford  asked,  with  a  peculiar 
meaning  in  his  tone. 

*'  Nothing?  "  the  professor  echoed  softly. 

Burton  withdrew  his  eyes  from  the  little  shadowy 
vista  of  garden  and  looked  steadfastly  at  the  two 
men.  Then  his  heart  began  to  beat.  He  was  filled 
with  a  sort  of  terror  lest  they  should  say  what  he 
felt  sure  was  in  their  minds.  It  was  h^e  sacrilege. 
It  was  something  unholy.  His  eyes  had  been  caught 
by  the  flutter  of  a  white  gown  passing  across  one 
of  the  lighter  places  of  the  perfumed  darkness. 
They  had  been  watching  him.  He  only  prayed  that 
they  would  not  interrupt  until  he  had  reached  the 
end  of  his  speech. 

"  Professor,"  he  said  softly,  turning  to  his  host, 
**  there  is  one  thing  which  I  desire  so  greatly  that 
I  would  give  my  life  itself  for  it.  I  would  give  even 
what  you  have  asked  for  to-night  and  be  content  to 
leave  the  world  in  so  much  shorter  time.  But  that 
one  thing  I  may  not  ask  of  you,  for  in  those  days 
of  which  I  have  told  you,  before  the  wonderful  ad- 
venture came,  I  was  married.  My  wife  lives  now  in 
Garden  Green.  I  have  also  a  little  boy.  You  will 
forgive  me." 

He  passed  through  the  open  French  windows  and 
neither  of  them  made  any  further  attempt  to  detain 
him.  Their  silence  was  a  little  unnatural  and  from 
the  walk  outside  he  glanced  for  a  moment  behind 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  199 

him.  The  two  men  were  sitting  in  exactly  the  same 
positions,  their  faces  were  turned  towards  him,  and 
their  eyes  seemed  to  be  following  his  movements. 
Yet  there  was  a  change.  The  professor  was  no 
longer  the  absorbed,  mildly  benevolent  man  of  sci- 
ence. Mr.  Bomford  had  lost  his  commonplace  ex- 
pression. There  was  a  new  thing  in  their  faces, 
something  eager,  ominous.  Burton  felt  a  sudden- 
depression  as  he  turned  away.  He  looked  with 
relief  at  the  thin  circle  of  the  moon,  visible  now 
through  the  waving  elm  trees  at  the  bottom  of  the 
garden.  He  drew  in  with  joy  a  long  breath  of  the 
delicious  perfume  drawn  by  the  night  from  the 
silent  boughs  of  the  cedar  tree.  Resolutely  he  hur- 
ried away  from  the  sight  of  that  ugly  little  framed 
picture  upon  which  he  had  gazed  through  the  open 
French  windows  —  the  two  men  on  either  side  of  the 
lamp,  watching  him.  .   .  . 

"Edith!  "he  called  softly. 

She  answered  him  with  a  little  laugh.  She  was 
almost  by  his  side.  He  took  a  quick  step  forward. 
She  was  standing  among  the  deepest  shadows, 
against  the  trunk  of  the  cedar  tree,  her  slim  body 
leaning  slightly  against  it.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
her  face  was  whiter,  her  eyes  softer  than  ever.  He 
took  her  hand  in  his. 

She  smiled. 

"  You  must  not  come  out  to  me  here,"  she  whis- 


200         THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

pered.  "  Mr.  Bomford  will  not  like  it.  It  is  most 
improper." 

"  But  it  may  be  our  good-bye,"  he  pleaded. 
*'  They  want  me  to  do  something,  Mr.  Bomford  and 
your  father,  something  hideous,  utterly  grotesque. 
I  have  refused  and  they  are  very  angry." 

"  What  is  it  that  they  want  you  to  do  ?  " 

"  Dear,"  he  answered,  "  you,  I  am  sure,  will  under- 
stand. They  want  me  to  give  them  one  of  my  beans. 
They  want  to  make  some  wretched  drug  or  medicine 
from  it,  to  advertise  it  all  over  the  world,  to  amass 
a  great  fortune." 

"  Are  you  in  earnest.''  "  she  cried. 

"  Absolutely,"  he  assured  her.  "  It  is  Mr.  Bom- 
ford's  scheme.  He  says  that  it  would  mean  great 
wealth  for  all  of  us.  Your  father,  too,  praises  it. 
He,  too,  seemed  to  come  —  for  the  moment,  at  any 
rate  —  under  the  curse.  He,  too,  is  greedy  for 
money." 

"  And    you  ?  "    she   whispered.      "  What    did    you 


say 


?  " 


"What  did  I  say?"  he  repeated  wonderingly. 
*'  But  of  course  you  know !  Imagine  the  horror  of 
it  —  a  health-food  for  the  mind !  Huge  sums  of 
money  rolling  in  from  the  pockets  of  credulous  peo- 
ple, money  stinking  with  the  curse  of  vulgarity  and 
quackery!     It  is  almost  like  a  false  note,  dear,  to 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  201 

speak  of  it  out  here,  but  I  must  tell  you  because 
they  are  angry  with  me.  I  am  afraid  that  your 
father  will  send  me  away,  and  I  am  afraid  that  our 
little  dream  is  over  and  that  I  shall  not  wander  with 
you  any  more  evenings  here  in  the  cool  darkness, 
when  the  heat  of  the  day  is  past  and  the  fragrance 
of  the  cedar  tree  and  your  roses  fills  the  air,  and  you, 
your  sweet  self,  Edith,  are  here." 

She  was  looking  at  him  very  fixedly.  Her  lips 
Avere  a  little  parted,  her  eyes  were  moist,  her  bosom 
was  rising  and  falling  as  though  she  were  shaken  by 
some  wonderful  emotion. 

**  Dear !  "  she  murmured. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  she  leaned  a  little  towards 
him.  His  heart  ached  with  longing.  Very  slowly, 
almost  reverently,  his  hands  touched  her  shoulders, 
drew  her  towards  him. 

*'  You  and  I,"  he  whispered,  "  at  least  we  live  in 
the  same  world.  Nothing  will  ever  be  able  to  take 
the  joy  of  that  thought  from  my  heart." 

She  remained  quite  passive.  In  her  eyes  there  was 
a  far-away  look. 

*'  Dear,"  she  said  softly  in  his  ear,  "  you  are  such 
a  dreamer,  aren't  you  —  such  a  dear  unpractical 
person?  Have  you  never  used  your  wonderful  imag- 
ination to  ask  yourself  what  money  may  really  mean  ? 
You  can  buy  a  world  of  beautiful  things,  you  can 


202         THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

buy  the  souls  of  men  and  women,  you  can  buy  the 
law." 

He  felt  a  cold  pain  in  his  heart.  Looking  at  her 
through  the  twilight  he  could  almost  fancy  that 
there  was  a  gleam  in  her  face  of  something  which 
he  had  seen  shining  out  of  her  father's  eyes.  His 
arms  fell  away  from  her.  The  passion  which  had 
thrilled  him  but  a  moment  ago  seemed  crushed  by 
that  great  resurgent  impulse  which  he  was  powerless 
to  control. 

"You  think  that  I  should  do  this?"  he  cried, 
hoarsely. 

"Why  not.''"  she  answered.  "Money  is  only 
vulgar  if  you  spend  it  vulgarly.  It  might  mean 
so  much  to  you  and  to  me." 

"  Tell  me  how.?  "  he  faltered. 

"  Mr.  Bomford  is  very  fond  of  money,"  she  con- 
tinued. "  He  is  fonder  of  money,  I  think,  than  he 
is  of  me.  And  then,"  she  added,  her  voice  sinking 
to  a  whisper,  "  there  is  Garden  Green.  Of  course, 
I  do  not  know  much  about  these  things,  but  I  sup- 
pose if  you  really  wanted  to,  and  spent  a  great  deal 
of  money,   you   could  buy   your   freedom,   couldn't 


you 


?  » 


The  air  seemed  full  of  jangling  discords.  He 
closed  his  eyes.  It  was  as  though  a  shipwreck  was 
going  on  around  him.  His  dream  was  being  broken 
up  into   pieces.      The   girl  with  the   fair  hair  was 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  203 

passing  into  the  shadows  from  which  she  had  come. 
She  called  to  him  across  the  lawn  as  he  hurried  away, 
softly  at  first  and  then  insistently.  But  Burton  did 
not  return.     He  spent  his  night  upon  the  Common. 


204         THE   DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 


CHAPTER    XIX 

A    BAD    HAL.F-HOUB 

BuETON  slept  that  night  under  a  gorse  bush.  He 
was  no  sooner  alone  on  the  great  unlit  Common  with 
its  vast  sense  of  spaciousness,  its  cool  silence,  its 
splendid  dome  of  starlit  sky,  than  all  his  anger  and 
disappointment  seemed  to  pass  away.  The  white, 
threatening  faces  of  the  professor  and  Mr.  Bomford 
no  longer  haunted  him.  Even  the  memory  of  Edith 
herself  tugged  no  longer  at  his  heartstrings.  He 
slept  almost  like  a  child,  and  awoke  to  look  out  upon 
a  million  points  of  sunlight  sparkling  in  the  dewdrops. 
A  delicious  west  wind  was  blowing.  Little  piled-up 
masses  of  white  cloud  had  been  scattered  across  the 
blue  sky.  Even  the  gorse  bushes  creaked  and  quiv- 
ered. The  fir  trees  in  a  httle  spinney  close  at  hand 
were  twisted  into  all  manners  of  shapes.  Burton  lis- 
tened to  their  music  for  a  few  minutes,  and  ex- 
changed civilities  with  a  dapple-breasted  thrush 
seated  on  a  clump  of  heather  a  few  yards  away. 
Then  he  rose  to  his  feet,  took  in  a  long  breath  of 
the  fresh  morning  air,  and  started  briskly  across  the 
Common  towards  the  nearest  railway  station. 

He  was  conscious,  after  the  first  few  steps,  of  a 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  205 

dim  premonition  of  some  coming  change.  It  did  not 
affect  —  indeed,  it  seemed  to  increase  the  lightness 
of  his  spirits,  yet  he  was  conscious  at  the  back  of 
his  brain  of  a  fear  which  he  could  not  put  into 
words.  The  first  indication  of  real  trouble  came  in 
the  fact  that  he  found  himself  whistling  "  Yip-i- 
addy-i-ay  "  as  he  turned  into  the  station  yard.  He 
knew  then  what  was  coming. 

After  the  first  start,  the  rapidity  of  his  collapse 
was  appalling.  The  seclusion  of  the  first-class  car- 
riage to  which  his  ticket  entitled  him,  and  which  his 
somewhat  peculiar  toilet  certainly  rendered  advisa- 
ble, was  suddenly  immensely  distasteful.  He  bought 
Tit-bits  and  Alii/  Sloper  at  the  bookstall,  squeezed 
his  way  into  a  crowded  third-class  compartment,  and 
joined  in  a  noisy  game  of  nap  with  half  a  dozen 
roistering  young  clerks,  who  were  full  of  jokes  about 
his  crumpled  dinner  clothes.  Arrived  in  London,  he 
had  the  utmost  difficulty  to  refrain  from  buying  a 
red  and  yellow  tie  displayed  in  the  station  lavatory 
where  he  washed  and  shaved,  and  the  necessity  for 
purchasing  a  collar  stud  left  him  for  a  few  moments 
in  imminent  peril  of  acquiring  a  large  brass-stemmed 
production  with  a  sham  diamond  head.  He  hastened 
to  his  rooms,  scarcely  daring  to  look  about  him, 
turned  over  the  clothes  In  his  wardrobe  with  a  curi- 
ous dissatisfaction,  and  dressed  himself  hastily  in  as 
offensive  a  combination  of  garments  as  he  could  lay 


2o6         THE   DOUBLE    LIFE   OF 

his  hands  upon.  He  bought  some  common  Virginian 
cigarettes  and  made  his  way  to  the  offices  of  Messrs. 
Waddington  and  Forbes. 

Mr.  Waddington  was  unfeignedly  glad  to  see  him. 
His  office  was  pervaded  by  a  sort  of  studious  calm 
which,  from  a  business  point  of  view,  seemed  scarcely 
satisfactory.  Mr.  Waddington  himself  appeared  to 
be  immersed  in  a  calf-bound  volume  of  Ruskin.  He 
glanced  curiously  at  his  late  employee. 

"  Did  you  dress  in  a  hurry,  Burton  ?  "  he  Inquired. 
*'  That  combination  of  gray  trousers  and  brown  coat 
with  a  blue  tie  seems  scarcely  in  your  usual  form." 

Burton  dragged  up  a  chair  to  the  side  of  his  late 
employer's  desk. 

"  Mr.  Waddington,"  he  begged,  "  don't  let  me  go 
out  of  your  sight  until  I  have  taken  another  bean. 
It  came  on  early  this  morning.  I  went  through  all 
my  wardrobe  to  find  the  wrong  sort  of  clothes,  and 
the  only  thing  that  seemed  to  satisfy  me  was  to  wear 
odd  ones.  Whatever  you  do,  don't  lose  sight  of  me. 
In  a  few  hours'  time  I  shouldn't  want  to  take  a  bean 
at  all.  I  should  be  inviting  you  to  lunch  at  the 
Golden  Lion,  playing  billiards  in  the  afternoon,  and 
having  a  night  out  at  a  music  hall." 

Mr.  Waddington  nodded  sympathetically. 

"  Poor  fellow !  "  he  said.  "  Seems  odd  that  you 
should  turn  up  this  morning.  I  can  sympathize  with 
•  you.     Have  you  noticed  my  tie  ?  " 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  207 

Burton  nodded  approvingly. 

"  Very  pretty  indeed,"  he  declared. 

"  You  won't  think  so  when  you've  had  that  bean," 
Mr.  Waddington  groaned.  *'  It  began  to  come  on 
with  me  about  an  hour  ago.  I  forced  myself  into 
these  clothes  but  the  tie  floored  me.  I've  a  volume 
of  Ruskin  here  before  me,  but  underneath,  you  see," 
he  continued,  lifting  up  the  blotting-paper,  "  is  a 
copy  of  Snapshots.  I'm  fighting  it  off  as  long  as 
I  can.  The  fact  is  I've  a  sale  this  afternoon.  I 
thought  if  I  could  last  until  after  that  it  might  not 
be  a  bad  thing." 

"  How's  the  biz  ?  "  Burton  asked  with  a  touch  of 
his  old  jauntiness.     "  Going  strong,  eh?  " 

"  Not  so  good  and  not  so  bad,"  Mr.  Waddington 
admitted.  "  We've  got  over  that  boom  that  started 
at  first  when  people  didn't  understand  things.  They 
seem  to  regard  me  now  with  a  mixture  of  suspicion 
and  contempt.  All  the  same,  we  get  a  good  many 
outside  buyers  in,  and  we've  pulled  along  all  right 
up  till  now.  It's  been  the  best  few  months  of  my 
life,"  Mr.  Waddington  continued,  "  by  a  long  way, 
but  I'm  getting  scared,  and  that's  a  fact." 

"  How  many  beans  have  you  left?  "  Burton  in- 
quired. 

"Four,"  Mr.  Waddington  replied.  "What  I 
shall  do  when  they've  gone  I  can't  imagine." 

Burton  held  his  head  for  a  moment  a  little  wearily. 


2o8         THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

"  There  are  times,"  he  confessed,  "  especially 
when  one's  sort  of  between  the  two  things  like  this, 
when  I  can't  see  my  way  ahead  at  all.  Do  you  know 
that  last  night  the  man  with  whom  I  have  been  stay- 
ing —  a  man  of  education  too,  who  has  been  a  pro- 
fessor at  Oxford  University,  —  and  another,  a  more 
commercial  sort  of  Johnny,  offered  me  a  third  part- 
nership in  a  great  enterprise  for  putting  on  the 
market  a  new  mental  health-food,  if  I  would  give 
them  one  of  the  beans  for  analysis.  They  were  con- 
vinced that  we  should  make  millions." 

Mr.  Waddington  was  evidently  struck  with  the 
idea. 

"  It's  a  great  scheme,"  he  said  hesitatingly.  "  I 
suppose  last  night  it  occurred  to  you  that  it  was 
just  a  trifle  —  eh?  —  just  a  trifle  vulgar?  "  he  asked 
tentatively. 

Burton  assented  gloomily. 

"  Last  night,"  he  declared,  "  it  seemed  to  me  like 
a  crime.  It  made  me  shiver  all  over  while  they  talked 
of  it.  To-day,  well,  I'm  half  glad  and  I'm  half  sorry 
that  they're  not  here.  If  they  walked  into  this  office 
now  I'd  swallow  a  bean  as  quickly  as  I  could,  but  I 
tell  you  frankly,  Mr.  Waddington,  that  at  the  pres- 
ent moment  it  seems  entirely  reasonable  to  me. 
Money,  after  all,  is  worth  having,  isn't  it?  —  a  nice 
comfortable  sum  so  that  one  could  sit  back  and  just 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  209 

have  a  good  time.  Don't  stare  at  me  like  that.  Of 
course,  I'm  half  ashamed  of  what  I'm  saying.  There's 
the  other  part  pulling  and  tugging  away  all  the 
time  makes  me  feel  inclined  to  kick  myself,  but  I 
can't  help  it.  I  know  that  these  half  formed  ideas 
of  enjoyment  by  means  of  wealth  are  only  degra- 
ding, that  one  would  sink  —  oh,  hang  it  all,  Mr. 
Waddington,  what  a  mess  it  all  is !  " 

Mr.  Waddington  pulled  down  his  desk. 

"  We  must  go  through  with  it,  Burton,"  he  said 
firmly.  "  You're  more  advanced  than  I  am  in  this 
thing,  I  can  see.  You'll  need  your  bean  quickly.  I 
believe  I  can  hold  off  till  after  the  sale.  But  —  I've 
a  curious  sort  of  temptation  at  the  present  moment, 
Burton.     Shall  I  tell  you  what  it  is  ?  " 

"  Go  ahead,"  Burton  answered  gloomily. 

Mr.  Waddington  slapped  his  trousers  pocket. 

"  Before  we  do  another  thing,"  he  suggested, 
**  let's  go  round  to  the  Golden  Lion  and  have  just 
one  bottle  of  beer  —  just  to  feel  what  it's  like,  eh?  " 

Burton  sprang  up. 

"  By  Jove,  let's !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I've  had  no 
breakfast.  I'm  ravenous.  Do  they  still  have  that 
cheese  and  crusty  loaf  there?  " 

Mr.  Waddington  glanced  at  the  clock. 

"  It's  on  by  now,"  he  declared.     "  Come  along." 

They  went  out  together  and  trod  eagerly  yet  a 


210         THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

trifle  sheepishly  the  very  well-known  way  that  led 
to  the  Golden  Lion.  The  yellow-hatred  young  lady 
behind  the  bar  welcomed  them  with  a  little  cry  of 
astonishment.  She  tossed  her  head.  Her  manner 
was  familiar  but  was  intended  to  convey  some  sense 
of  resentment. 

"  To  think  of  seeing  you  two  again ! "  she  ex- 
claimed. "  You,  Mr.  Waddington,  of  all  gentlemen 
in  the  world !  Well,  I  declare !  "  she  went  on,  hold- 
ing out  her  hand  across  the  counter,  after  having 
given  it  a  preliminary  wipe  with  a  small  duster. 
"  Talk  about  a  deserter !  Where  have  you  been  to 
every  morning,  I  should  like  to  know?  " 

"  Not  anywhere  else,  my  dear,"  Mr.  Waddington 
asserted,  hastily,  "  that  I  can  assure  you.  Seem 
to  have  lost  my  taste  for  beer,  or  taking  anything 
in  the  morning  lately.  Matter  of  digestion,  I  sup- 
pose. Must  obey  our  doctors,  eh.''  We'll  have  a 
tankard  each,  please.  That's  right,  isn't  it.  Bur- 
ton.? " 

Burton,  whose  mouth  was  already  full  of  bread 
and  cheese,  nodded.  The  two  men  sat  down  in  a 
little  enclosed  partition.  The  yellow-haired  young 
lady  leaned  across  the  counter  with  the  air  of  one 
willing  for  conversation. 

"  Such  queer  things  as  I've  heard  about  you,  Mr. 
Waddington,"  she  began.  "  My !  the  way  people 
have  been  talking !  " 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  211 

"That  so?"  Mr.  Waddington  muttered.  "Wish 
they'd  mind  their  own  business." 

"  That's  too  much  to  expect  from  folks  nowa- 
days," the  young  lady  continued.  "  Why,  there 
were  some  saying  as  you'd  come  into  a  fortune 
and  spent  all  your  time  in  the  west-end,  some  that 
you'd  turned  religious,  and  others  that  you'd  gone 
a  bit  dotty.  I  must  say  you're  looking  somehow 
different,  you  and  Mr.  Burton  too.  It's  quite  like 
old  times,  though,  to  see  you  sitting  there  together. 
You  used  to  come  in  after  every  sale  and  sit  just 
where  you're  sitting  now  and  go  through  the  papers. 
How's  the  business?  " 

"  Very  good,"  Mr.  Waddington  admitted.  "  How 
have  you  been  getting  along,  eh?  " 

The  young  lady  sighed.  She  rolled  her  eyes  at 
Mr.  Waddington  in  a  manner  which  was  meant  to 
be  languishing. 

"  Very  badly  indeed,"  she  declared,  "  thanks  to 
you,  you  neglectful,  ungrateful  person!  I've  heard 
of  fickle  men  before  but  I've  never  met  one  to  come 
up  to  one  that  /  could  name." 

Mr.  Waddington  moved  a  little  uneasily  in  his 
place. 

"  Been  to  the  theatre  lately  ?  "  he  inquired. 

The  theatre  was  apparently  a  sore  point. 

"  Been  to  the  theatre,  indeed ! "  she  repeated. 
*'  Why,  I  refused  all  the  other  gentlemen  j  ust  so  as 


212         THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

to  go  with  you,  and  as  soon  as  we  got  nicely  started, 
why,  you  never  came  near  again !  I've  had  no  chance 
to  go." 

Mr.  Waddington  took  out  a  little  book. 

*'  I  wonder,"  he  suggested,  "  if  any  evening  —  " 

"  Next  Thursday  night  at  seven  o'clock,  I  shall 
be  free,"  the  young  lady  interrupted  promptly. 
*'  We'll  have  a  little  dinner  first,  as  we  used  to,  and 
I  want  to  go  to  the  Gaiety.  It's  lucky  you  came  in," 
she  went  on,  "  for  I  can  assure  you  that  I  shouldn't 
have  waited  much  longer.  There  are  others,  you 
know,  that  are  free  enough  with  their  invitations." 

She  tossed  her  head.  With  her  hands  to  the  back 
of  her  hair  she  turned  round  to  look  at  herself  for 
a  moment  in  one  of  the  mirrors  which  lined  the  inside 
of  the  bar.     Burton  grinned  at  his  late  employer. 

"  Now  you've  gone  and  done  it !  "  he  whispered. 
*'  Why,  you'll  have  taken  a  bean  before  then ! " 

Mr.  Waddington  started. 

**  I'll  have  to  make  some  excuse,"  he  said. 

"  You  won't  be  able  to,"  Burton  reminded  him. 
**  Excuses  are  not  for  us,  nowadays.  You'll  have 
to  tell  the  truth.  I'm  afraid  you've  rather  put  your 
foot  in  it." 

Mr.  Waddington  became  thoughtful.  The  young 
lady,  having  disposed  of  some  other  customers,  re- 
turned to  her  place.  She  rubbed  the  counter  for  a 
few  minutes  with  a  duster  which  hung  from  the  belt 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  213 

around  her  waist.     Then  she  leaned  over  once  more 
towards  them. 

"  It's  a  pity  Maud's  off  duty,  Mr.  Burton,"  she 
remarked.  "  She's  been  asking  about  you  pretty 
nearly  every  day." 

A  vision  of  Maud  rose  up  before  Burton's  eyes. 
First  of  all  he  shivered.  Then  in  some  vague,  un- 
wholesome sort  of  manner  he  began  to  find  the  vision 
attractive.  He  found  himself  actually  wishing  that 
she  were  there  —  a  buxom  young  woman  with  dyed 
hair  and  sidelong  glances,  a  loud  voice,  and  a  distinct 
fancy  for  flirtations. 

*'  She  is  quite  well,  I  hope?  "  he  said. 

"  Oh,  Maudie's  all  right !  "  the  young  lady  replied. 
"  Fortunately  for  her,  she's  like  me  —  she  don't  lay 
too  much  store  on  the  things  you  gentlemen  say 
when  you  come  in.  Staying  away  for  months  at 
a  time !  "  she  continued  indignantly.  *'  I'm  ashamed 
of  both  of  you.  It's  the  way  we  girls  always  get 
treated.  I  shall  tell  them  to  lay  for  you  for  lunch 
to-day,  anyway." 

The  two  men  looked  at  one  another  across  the 
round  table.     Mr.  Waddington  heaved  a  sigh. 

"  I  shouldn't  bother  about  that  sale,  if  I  were 
you,"  Burton  whispered  hoarsely.  "  I  tell  you  what 
it  is,  I  daren't  go  on  like  this  any  longer.  I  shall 
do  something  desperate.  This  horrible  place  Is  get- 
ting attractive  to  me!     I  shall  probably  sit  here  and 


214         THE   DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

order  more  beer  and  wait  till  Maud  comes;  I  shall 
stay  to  lunch  and  sit  with  my  arm  around  her  after- 
wards !    I  am  going  to  take  a  bean  at  once." 

Mr.  Waddington  sighed  and  produced  the  snuff- 
box from  his  waistcoat  pocket.  Burton  followed 
suit.  The  young  woman,  leaning  across  the  counter, 
watched  them  curiously. 

"  What's  that  you're  taking? "  she  inquired. 
"  Something  for  indigestion  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly,"  Mr.  Waddington  replied.  "  It's 
a  little  ailment  I'm  suffering  from,  and  Burton  too." 

They  both  swallowed  their  beans.  Burton  gave  a 
deep  sigh. 

"  I  feel  safe  again,"  he  murmured.  "  I  am  certain 
that  I  was  on  the  point  of  suggesting  that  she  send 
up  for  Maud.  We  might  have  taken  them  out  to- 
gether to-night,  Mr.  Waddington  —  had  dinner  at 
FrascatVs,  drunk  cheap  champagne,  and  gone  to  a 
music-hall !  " 

"  Burton,"  Mr.  Waddington  said  calmly,  "  I  do 
not  for  a  moment  believe  that  we  should  so  far  have 
forgotten  ourselves.  I  don't  know  how  you  are  feel- 
ing, but  the  atmosphere  of  this  place  is  most  dis- 
tasteful to  me.  These  tawdry  decorations  are  posi- 
tively vicious.     The  odor,  too,  is  insufferable." 

Burton  rose  hastily  to  his  feet. 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,"  he  said.  "  Let  us  get 
out  as  quickly  as  we  can." 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  215 

"  Something,"  Mr.  Waddington  went  on,  "  ought 
to  be  done  to  prevent  the  employment  of  young 
women  in  a  pubhc  place.  It  is  enough  to  alter  one's 
whole  opinion  of  the  sex  to  see  a  brazen-looking 
creature  like  that  lounging  about  the  bar,  and  to 
be  compelled  to  be  ser\'ed  by  her  if  one  is  in  need 
of  a  little  refreshment." 

Burton  nodded  his  approbation. 

"  How  we  could  ever  have  found  our  way  into  the 
place,"  he  said,  "  I  can't  imagine." 

"  A  moment  or  two  ago,"  Mr.  Waddington 
groaned,  "  you  were  thinking  of  sending  up  for 
Maud." 

Burton,  at  this,  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his 
forehead. 

"  Please  don't  remind  me  of  it,"  he  begged.  "  Let 
us  get  away  as  quickly  as  we  can." 

The  young  lady  leaned  over  from  the  bar,  hold- 
ing out  a  hand,  none  too  clean,  on  which  sparkled 
several  rings. 

"  Well,  you're  in  a  great  hurry  all  at  once,"  she 
remarked.  "  Can't  you  stay  a  bit  longer  ?  "  —  She 
glanced  at  the  clock.  —  "  Maud  will  be  down  in  ten 
minutes.  You're  not  going  away  after  all  this  time 
without  leaving  a  message  or  something  for  her, 
Mr.  Burton,  surely.''  " 

Burton  looked  at  her  across  the  counter  as  one 
might  look  at  some  strange  creature  from  a  foreign 


2i6         THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

world,  a  creature  to  be  pitied,  perhaps,  nothing 
more. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  "  that  mine  was  only  a 
chance  visit.  Pray  remember  me  to  Miss  Maud,  if 
you  think  it  would  be  any  satisfaction  to  her." 

The  young  woman  stared  at  him. 

"  My,  but  you  are  funny !  "  she  declared.  "  You 
were  always  such  a  one  for  acting!  I'll  give  her 
your  love,  never  fear.  I  shall  tell  her  you'll  be  round 
later  in  the  day.  On  Thursday  night,  then,"  she 
added,  turning  to  Mr.  Waddington,  "  if  I  don't  see 
you  before,  and  if  you  really  mean  you're  not  going 
to  stay  for  lunch.  I'll  meet  you  at  the  comer  as 
usual." 

Mr.  Waddington  turned  away  without  apparently 
noticing  the  outstretched  hand.  He  raised  his  hat, 
however,  most  politely. 

**  If  I  should  be  prevented,"  he  began,  — 

The  young  woman  glared  at  him. 

*'  Look  here,  I've  had  enough  of  this  shilly-shally- 
ing !  "  she  exclaimed  sharply.  "  Do  you  mean  taking 
me  out  on  Thursday  or  do  you  not.?  —  because 
there's  a  gentleman  who  comes  in  here  for  his  beer 
most  every  morning  who's  most  anxious  I  should 
dine  out  with  him  my  next  night  off.  I've  only  to 
say  the  word  and  he'll  fetch  me  in  a  taxicab.  I'm 
not  sure  that  he  hasn't  got  a  motor  of  his  own.    No 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  217 

more  nonsense,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Waddington,"  she 
continued,  shaking  out  her  duster.  "  Is  that  an 
engagement  with  you  on  Thursday  night,  or  is  it 
not.?  " 

Mr.  Waddington  measured  with  his  eye  the  dis- 
tance to  the  door.  He  gripped  Burton's  arm  and 
looked  over  his  shoulder. 

"  It  is  not,"  he  said  firmly. 

They  left  the  place  a  little  precipitately.  Once 
in  the  open  air,  however,  they  seemed  quickly  to 
recover  their  equanimity.  Burton  breathed  a  deep 
sigh  of  relief. 

"  I  must  go  and  change  my  clothes,  Mr.  Wad- 
dington," he  declared.  "  I  don't  know  how  on  earth 
I  could  have  come  out  looking  such  a  sight.  I  feel 
like  working,  too." 

"  Such  a  lovely  morning ! "  Mr.  Waddington 
sighed,  gazing  up  at  the  sky.  "  If  only  one  could 
escape  from  these  hateful  streets  and  get  out  into 
the  country  for  a  few  hours !  Have  you  ever  thought 
of  travelling  abroad.  Burton  ?  " 

**  Have  you  ?  "  Burton  asked. 

Mr.  Waddington  nodded. 

*'  I  have  it  in  my  mind  at  the  present  moment," 
he  admitted.  "  Imagine  the  joy  of  wandering  about 
in  Rome  or  Florence,  say,  just  looking  at  the  build- 
ings one  has  heard  of  all  one's  life!     And  the  pic- 


2i8  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

ture  galleries  —  just  fancy  the  picture  galleries, 
Burton!  What  a  dream!  Have  you  ever  been  to 
Paris?" 

"  Never,"  Burton  confessed  sadly. 

"  Nor  I,"  Mr.  Waddington  continued.  "  I  have 
been  lying  awake  at  nights  lately,  thinking  of  Ver- 
sailles. Why  do  we  waste  our  time  here  at  all,  I 
wonder,  in  this  ugly  little  comer  of  the  universe?  " 

Burton  smiled. 

"  There  is  something  of  the  hedonist  about  you, 
Mr.  Waddington,"  he  remarked.  "  To  me  these 
multitudes  of  people  are  wonderful.  I  seem  driven 
always  to  seek  for  light  in  the  crowded  places." 

Mr.  Waddington  called  a  taxicab. 

"  Can  I  give  you  a  lift  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  have 
no  sale  until  the  afternoon.  I  shall  go  to  one  of  the 
galleries.  I  want  to  escape  from  the  memory  of  the 
last  half -hour  I" 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  219 


CHAPTER    XX 


ANOTHER    COMPLICATION 


There  came  a  time  when  Burton  finished  his 
novel.  He  wrapped  it  up  very  carefully  in  brown 
paper  and  set  out  to  call  upon  his  friend  the  sub- 
editor. He  gained  his  sanctum  without  any  par- 
ticular trouble  and  was  warmly  greeted. 

*'  Why  haven't  you  brought  us  anything  lately  ?  '* 
the  sub-editor  asked. 

Burton  tapped  the  parcel  which  he  was  carrying. 

"  I  have  written  a  novel,"  he  said. 

The  sub-editor  was  not  in  the  least  impressed  — 
in  fact  he  shook  his  head. 

*'  There  are  too  many  novels,"  he  declared. 

*'  I  am  afraid,"  Burton  replied,  "  that  there  will 
have  to  be  one  more,  or  else  I  must  starve." 

**  Why  have  you  brought  it  here,  anyhow  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  might  tell  me  what  to  do  with  it," 
Burton  answered,  diffidently. 

The  sub-editor  sighed  and  drew  a  sheet  of  note- 
paper  towards  him.  He  wrote  a  few  lines  and  put 
them  in  an  envelope. 

"  There    is    a    letter    of    introduction    to    a    pub- 


220         THE   DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

lisher,"  he  explained.  "  Frankly,  I  don't  think  it  is 
worth  the  paper  it  is  written  on.  Nowadays,  novels 
are  published  or  not,  either  according  to  their  merit 
or  the  possibility  of  their  appealing  to  the  public 
taste." 

Burton  looked  at  the  address. 

*'  Thank  you  very  much,"  he  said.  "  I  will  take 
this  in  myself." 

"When  are  you  going  to  bring  us  something?" 
the  sub-editor  inquired. 

"  I  am  going  home  to  try  and  write  something 
now,"  Burton  replied.  "  It  is  either  that  or  the 
pawnshop." 

The  sub-editor  nodded. 

"  Novels  are  all  very  well  for  amusement,"  he 
said,  "  but  they  don't  bring  in  bread  and  cheese. 
Come  right  up  to  me  as  soon  as  you've  got  some- 
thing." 

Burton  left  his  novel  at  the  address  which  the 
sub-editor  had  given  him,  and  went  back  to  his  lodg- 
ings. He  let  himself  in  with  a  latchkey.  The  care- 
taker of  the  floor  bustled  up  to  him  as  he  turned 
towards  the  door  of  his  room. 

"  Don't  know  that  I've  done  right,  sir,'*  she  re- 
marked, doubtfully.  "  There  was  a  young  person 
here,  waiting  about  to  see  you,  been  waiting  the  best 
part  of  an  hour.     I  let  her  into  your  sitting-room." 

"  Any  name .''  "  Burton  asked. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  221 

The  caretaker  looked  thoughtfully  up  at  the  ceil- 
ing. 

"  Said  she  was  your  wife,  sir.  Sorry  if  I've  done 
wrong.  It  came  over  me  afterwards  that  I'd  been 
a  bit  rash." 

Burton  threw  open  the  door  of  his  sitting-room 
and  closed  it  quickly  behind  him.  It  was  indeed 
Ellen  who  was  sitting  in  the  most  uncomfortable 
chair,  with  her  arms  folded,  in  an  attitude  of  grim 
but  patient  resignation.  She  was  still  wearing  the 
hat  with  the  wing,  the  mauve  scarf,  the  tan  shoes, 
and  the  velveteen  gown.  A  touch  of  the  Parisienne, 
however,  was  supplied  to  her  costume  by  a  black  veil 
dotted  over  with  purple  spots.  Her  taste  in  per- 
fumes was  obviously  unaltered. 

"  Ellen !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"Well?"  she  replied. 

As  a  monosyllabic  start  to  a  conversation,  Ellen's 
"  Well  ? "  created  difficulties.  Instead  of  his  de- 
manding an  explanation,  she  was  doing  it.  Burton 
was  conscious  that  his  opening  was  not  brilliant. 

"  Why,  this  is  quite  a  surprise ! "  he  said.  "  I 
had  no  idea  you  were  here." 

"  Dare  say  not,"  she  answered.  "  Didn't  know  I 
was  coming  myself  till  I  found  myself  on  the  door- 
step. Kind  of  impulse,  I  suppose.  What  have  you 
been  doing  to  little  Alf  ?  " 

Burton  looked  at  her  in  bewilderment. 


222  THE   DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

"Doing  to  the  boy?"  he  repeated.  "I  haven't 
seen  him  since  I  saw  you  last." 

"  That's  all  very  well  for  a  tale,"  Ellen  rephed, 
*'  but  you're  not  going  to  tell  me  that  he's  come  into 
these  ways  naturally." 

"  What  ways  ?  "  Burton  exclaimed,  "  My  dear 
Ellen,  you  must  be  a  little  more  explicit.  I  tell  you 
that  I  have  not  seen  the  child  since  I  was  at  Garden 
Green.  I  am  utterly  ignorant  of  anything  which 
may  have  happened  to  him." 

Ellen  remained  entirely  unconvinced. 

"  There's  things  about,"  she  declared,  "  which  I 
don't  understand  nor  don't  want  to.  First  of  all 
you  go  dotty.  Now  the  same  sort  of  thing  seems 
to  have  come  to  little  Alf,  and  what  I  want  to  know 
is  what  you  mean  by  it.''  It's  all  rubbish  for  you 
to  expect  me  to  believe  that  he's  taken  to  this  nat- 
urally." 

Burton  put  his  hand  to  his  head  for  a  moment. 

**  Go  on,"  he  said.  "  Unless  you  tell  me  what  has 
happened  to  Alfred,  I  cannot  even  attempt  to  help 
you." 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  fast  enough,"  Ellen  assured 
him,  "  though  you  needn't  take  that  for  a  proof  that 
I  believe  what  you  say.  He's  been  a  changed  child 
ever  since  you  were  down  last.  Came  home  from  the 
school  and  complained  about  the  other  boys  not  wash- 
ing properly.     Wanted  a  bath  every  day,  and  made 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  223 

me  buy  him  a  new  toothbrush.  Brushes  his  hair  and 
washes  his  hands  every  time  he  goes  out.  Took  a 
dishke  to  his  tie  and  burned  it.  Plagued  me  to 
death  till  I  got  him  a  new  suit  of  clothes  —  plain, 
ugly  things,  too,  he  would  have.  He  won't  have 
nothing  to  do  with  his  friends,  chucked  playing 
marbles  or  hopscotch,  and  goes  out  in  the  country, 
picking  flowers.  Just  to  humor  him,  the  first  lot 
he  brought  home  I  put  in  one  of  those  vases  that 
ma  brought  us  from  Yarmouth,  and  what  do  you 
think  he  did.''  —  threw  the  vase  out  of  the  window 
and  bought  with  his  own  pocket  money  a  plain  china 
bowl." 

Burton  listened  in  blank  amazement.  As  yet  the 
light  had  not  come. 

"Go  on,"  he  murmured.     "Anything  else?" 

**  Up  comes  his  master  a  few  days  ago,"  Ellen 
continued.  "  Fairly  scared  me  to  death.  Said  the 
boy  showed  signs  of  great  talent  In  drawing.  Tal- 
ent in  drawing,  Indeed !  I'll  give  him  talent ! 
Wanted  me  to  have  him  go  to  night  school  and  pay 
for  extra  lessons.  Said  he  thought  the  boy  would 
turn  out  an  artist.  Nice  bit  of  money  there  is  in 
that ! " 

"  What  did  you  tell  him?  "  Burton  asked. 

"  I  told  him  to  stop  putting  silly  ideas  Into  the 
child's  head,"  Ellen  replied.  "We  don't  want  to 
make  no  artist  of  Alfred.     Into  an  office  he's  got 


224         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 

to  go  as  soon  as  he's  passed  his  proper  standard, 
and  that's  what  I  told  his  schoolmaster.  Calling 
Alf  a  genius,  indeed !  " 

*'  Is  this  all  that's  troubling  you  ?  "  Burton  in- 
quired calmly. 

*'  All .''  "  Ellen  cried.  "  Bless  my  soul,  as  though 
it  wasn't  enough!  A  nice  harmless  boy  as  ever  was 
until  that  day  that  you  came  down.  You  don't 
seem  to  understand.  He's  like  a  little  old  man. 
Chooses  his  words,  corrects  my  grammar,  keeps  him- 
self so  clean  you  can  almost  smell  the  soap.  What 
I  say  is  that  it  isn't  natural  in  a  child  of  his  age." 

Burton  smiled. 

"  Well,  really,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  see  anything  to 
worry  about  in  what  you  have  told  me." 

"  Don't  you !  "  Ellen  repHed.  "  Well,  just  you  lis- 
ten to  me  and  answer  my  question.  I  left  Alf  alone 
with  you  while  I  changed  my  —  while  I  looked  after 
the  washing  the  day  you  came,  and  what  I  want  to 
know  is,  did  you  give  him  one  of  those  things  that 
you  talked  to  me  about.''  " 

"  I  certainly  did  not,"  Burton  answered. 

Then  a  light  broke  in  upon  him.  Ellen  saw  the 
change  in  his  face. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  "  she  asked  sharply.  "  I  can 
see  you  know  all  about  it." 

"  There  were  the  two  beans  you  threw  out  of  the 
window,"  he  said.     "  He  must  have  picked  up  one." 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  225 

"  Beans,  indeed !  "  Ellen  replied,  scornfully.  "  Do 
you  mean  to  tell  me  that  a  bean  would  work  all  this 
mischief  in  the  child  ?  " 

*'  I  happen  to  know  that  it  would." 

*'  Comes  of  picking  up  things  in  the  street ! " 
Ellen  exclaimed.  "  I'll  give  it  him  when  I  get  back, 
I  will!" 

"  You  must  forgive  me,"  Burton  said,  "  but  I 
really  don't  see  what  you  have  to  complain  about. 
From  what  you  tell  me,  I  should  consider  the  boy 
very  much  improved." 

"  Improved !  "  Ellen  repeated.  "  An  unnatural 
little  impudent  scallywag  of  a  child!  You  don't 
think  I  want  a  schoolmaster  in  knickerbockers  about 
the  place  all  the  time?  Found  fault  with  my  clothes 
yesterday,  hid  some  of  the  ornaments  in  the  parlor, 
and  I  caught  him  doing  a  sketch  of  a  woman  the 
other  day  with  not  a  shred  of  clothes  on.  Said  it 
was  a  copy  of  some  statue  in  the  library.  It  may 
be  your  idea  of  how  a  boy  nine  years  old  should  go 
on,  but  it  isn't  mine,  and  that's  straight." 

Burton  sighed. 

"  My  dear  Ellen,"  he  said,  "  we  do  not  look  at 
this  matter  from  the  same  point  of  view,  but  for- 
tunately as  you  will  say,  unfortunately  from  my 
point  of  view,  the  change  in  Alfred  is  not  likely  to 
prove  lasting.  You  will  find  in  another  few  weeks 
that  he  will  be  himself  again." 


226  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

"  Don't  believe  it,"  Ellen  declared.  "  He's  as  set 
in  his  ways  now  as  a  little  old  man." 

Burton  shook  his  head. 

"  It  won't  last,  I  know  it." 

"  Lasts  with  you  all  right !  "  she  snapped. 

Burton  opened  his  little  silver  box. 

"  It  lasts  with  me  only  as  long  as  these  little  beans 
last,"  he  replied.  "  You  see,  I  have  only  two  left. 
When  they  are  gone,  I  shall  be  back  again." 

"  If  you  think,"  Ellen  exclaimed,  "  that  you're 
going  to  march  into  Clematis  Villa  just  when  you 
feel  like  it,  and  behave  as  though  nothing  has  hap- 
pened, all  I  can  say,  my  man,  is  that  you're  going 
to  be  disappointed !  You've  kept  away  so  long  you 
can  keep  away  for  good.  We  can  do  without  you, 
me  and  Alf." 

Burton  still  held  the  box  in  his  hand. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  ventured  slowly,  "  I  couldn't  per- 
suade you  to  take  one?  " 

Ellen  rose  to  her  feet.  She  threw  the  scarf  around 
her  neck,  buttoned  her  gloves,  and  shook  out  her 
skirt.  She  picked  up  the  satchel  which  she  had  been 
carrying  and  prepared  to  depart. 

"  If  you  say  an3rthing  more  to  me  about  your 
beastly  beans,"  she  said,  "  I'll  lose  my  temper,  and 
that's  straight.  Can  you  tell  me  how  to  bring  little 
Alf  to  himself  again.?     That's  all  I  want  to  know." 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  227 

"  Time  will  do  that,  unfortunately,"  Burton  as- 
sured her.     "  Where  is  he  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  It's  his  half-holiday,"  Ellen  replied,  in  a  tone 
of  disgust,  "  and  where  do  you  think  he's  gone  ? 
Gone  to  a  museum  to  look  at  some  statues !  The 
schoolmaster  called  for  him.  They've  gone  off  to- 
gether. All  I  can  say  is  that  if  he  don't  turn  nat- 
ural again  before  long,  you  can  have  him.  He  don't 
belong  to  me  no  longer." 

"  I  am  willing  to  take  the  responsibility,"  Burton 
replied,  "  if  it  is  necessary.  Will  you  let  me  give 
you  some  tea?  " 

"  I  want  nothing  from  you  except  my  weekly 
money  that  the  law  provides  for,"  Ellen  answered 
fiercely.  "  You  can  keep  your  tea.  And  mind  what 
I  say,  too.  It's  no  use  coming  down  to  Clematis 
Villa  and  talking  about  the  effect  of  the  bean  having 
worn  off  and  being  yourself  again.  You  seem  pretty 
comfortable  here  and  you  can  stay  here  until  I'm 
ready  for  you.  Oh,  bother  holding  the  door  open !  " 
she  added,  angrily.  ''  I  hate  such  tricks !  Get  out 
of  the  way  and  let  me  pass.  I  can  let  myself  out. 
More  fool  me  for  coming!  I  might  have  known 
you'd  have  nothing  sensible  to  say." 

"  I'm  afraid,"  Burton  admitted,  "  that  we  do 
rather  look  at  this  matter  from  different  points  of 
view,  but,  as  I  told  you  before,  you  will  find  very 


228         THE   DOUBLE    LIFE   OF 

soon  that  Alfred  will  be  just  the  same  as  he  used 
to  be." 

"  If  he  don't  alter,"  Ellen  declared,  looking  back 
from  the  door,  "  you'll  find  him  here  one  day  by 
Carter  Patterson's,  with  a  label  around  his  neck. 
I'm  not  one  for  keeping  children  about  the  place 
that  know  more  than  their  mothers.  I  give  him 
another  three  weeks,  and  not  a  day  longer.  What 
do  you  think  was  the  last  thing  he  did.''  Went  and 
had  his  hair  cut  —  wanted  to  get  rid  of  his  curl, 
he  said." 

"  I  can't  blame  him  for  that,"  Burton  remarked, 
smiling.  "  I  never  thought  it  becoming.  Will  you 
shake  hands,  Ellen,  before  you  go.''  " 

"  I  won't ! "  she  replied,  drawing  up  her  skirt  in 
genteel  fashion.  "  I  want  nothing  to  do  with  you. 
Only,  if  he  don't  alter,  well,  just  you  look  out,  for 
you'll  find  him  on  your  doorstep." 

She  departed  in  a  "  Lily  of  the  Valley  "  scent  and 
little  fragments  of  purple  fluff.  Burton  threw  him- 
self into  an  easy-chair. 

"  If  one  could  only  find  the  tree,"  he  muttered  to 
himself.  "What  a  life  for  the  boy!  Poor  little 
chap!" 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  229 


CHAPTER    XXI 

AN    AMAZING    TRANSFORMATION 

The  novel  which  was  to  bring  immortal  fame  and, 
incidentally,  freedom  from  all  financial  responsibil- 
ities, to  Burton,  came  back  within  a  week,  with  a 
polite  note  which  he  was  at  first  inclined  to  accept 
as  some  consolation  until  he  found  that  it  was  stereo- 
typed. Within  a  few  hours  it  was  despatched  to 
another  firm  of  publishers,  taken  at  random  from  the 
advertisement  columns  of  the  Times.  An  hour  or 
two  afterwards  Alfred  arrived,  with  no  label  around 
his  neck,  but  a  veritable  truant.  Of  the  two  he  was 
the  more  self-possessed  as  he  greeted  his  amazed 
parent. 

"  I  am  sorry  if  you  are  angry  about  my  coming, 
father,"  he  said,  a  little  tremulously.  "  Something 
seems  to  have  happened  to  mother  during  the  last 
few  days.     Everything  that  I  do  displeases  her." 

'*  I  am  not  angry,"  Burton  declared,  after  a  mo- 
ment's amazed  silence.  "  The  only  thing  is,"  he 
added,  glancing  helplessly  around,  "  I  don't  know 
what  to  do  with  you.  I  have  no  servants  here  and 
only  my  one  little  bed." 


230         THE   DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

The  child  smiled.  He  appeared  to  consider  these 
matters  unimportant. 

"  You  eat  things  sometimes,  I  suppose,  daddy  ?  " 
he  said,  apologetically.  "  I  left  home  before  break- 
fast this  morning  and  it  took  me  some  time  to  find 
my  way  here." 

"  Sit  down  for  five  minutes,"  Burton  directed  hiniy 
"  and  I'll  take  you  out  somewhere." 

Burton  was  glad  to  get  into  the  privacy  of  his 
small  bedroom  and  sit  down  for  a  moment.  The 
thing  was  amazing  enough  when  it  had  happened  to 
himself.  It  was,  perhaps,  more  amazing  still  to 
watch  Its  effect  upon  Mr.  Waddington.  But  cer- 
tainly this  was  the  most  astounding  development  of 
all!  The  child  was  utterly  transformed.  There  was 
no  sign  of  his  mother's  hand  upon  his  clothes,  his 
neatly  brushed  hair  or  his  shiny  face.  His  eyes, 
too,  seemed  to  have  grown  bigger.  Alfred  had  been 
a  vulgar  little  boy,  addicted  to  slang  and  Immod- 
erately fond  of  noisy  games.  Burton  tried  to  call 
him  back  to  his  mind.  It  was  impossible  to  connect 
him  In  any  way  with  the  child  whom,  through  a  crack 
in  the  door,  he  could  see  standing  upon  a  chair  the 
better  to  scrutinize  closely  the  few  engravings  which 
hung  upon  the  wall.  Without  a  doubt,  a  new  re- 
sponsibility In  life  had  arrived.  To  meet  it.  Burton 
had  a  little  less  than  two  pounds,  and  the  weekly 
money  to  send  to  Ellen  within  a  few  days. 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  231 

He  took  Alfred  out  to  luncheon. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  beginning  their  conversa- 
tion anew,  "  that  even  if  I  am  able  to  keep  you  with 
me  for  a  short  time,  you  will  find  it  exceedingly 
dull." 

"  I  do  not  mind  being  dull  in  the  least,  father," 
the  boy  replied.  "  Mother  is  always  wanting  me  to 
play  silly  games  out  in  the  street,  with  boys  whom 
I  don't  like  at  all." 

"  I  used  to  see  you  playing  with  them  often,"  his 
father  reminded  him. 

The  child  looked  puzzled.  He  appeared  to  be  try- 
ing to  recollect  something. 

"  Daddy,  some  things  in  the  world  seem  so  funny," 
he  said,  thoughtfully.  "  I  know  that  I  used  to  like 
to  play  with  Teddy  Miles  and  Dick,  hopscotch  and 
marbles,  and  relievo.  Relievo  is  a  very  rough  game, 
and  marbles  makes  one  very  dirty  and  dusty.  Still, 
I  know  that  I  used  to  like  to  play  those  games.  I 
don't  want  to  now  a  bit.  I  would  rather  read.  If 
you  are  busy,  daddy,  I  shan't  mind  a  bit.  Please 
don't  think  that  you  will  have  to  play  with  me.  I 
want  to  read,  I  shall  be  quite  happy  reading  all  the 
time.  Mr.  Denschem  has  given  me  a  list  of  books. 
Perhaps  you  have  some  of  them.  If  not,  couldn't 
we  get  some  out  of  a  library  ?  " 

Burton  looked  at  the  list  which  the  boy  produced, 
and  groaned  to  himself. 


232         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

"  My  dear  Alfred,"  he  protested,  "  these  books 
are  for  almost  grown-up  people." 

The  boy  smiled  confidently. 

"  Mr.  Denschem  gave  me  the  list,  father,"  he  re- 
peated simply. 

After  lunch,  Burton  took  the  boy  round  to  Mr. 
Waddington's  office.  Mr.  Waddington  was  deep  in 
a  book  of  engravings  which  he  had  just  purchased. 
He  welcomed  Burton  warmly  and  gazed  with  sur- 
prise at  the  child. 

"  Alfred,"  his  father  directed,  "  go  and  sit  in  that 
easy-chair  for  a  few  minutes.  I  want  to  talk  to  Mr. 
Waddington." 

The  child  obeyed  at  once.  His  eyes,  however, 
were  longingly  fixed  upon  the  book  of  engravings. 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  have  a  look  at  these.''  '* 
Mr.  Waddington  suggested. 

Alfred  held  out  his  hands  eagerly. 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  he  said.  "  It  Is  very 
kind  of  you.  I  am  very  fond  of  this  sort  of  pic- 
ture." 

Burton  took  Mr.  Waddington  by  the  arm  and  led 
him  out  into  the  warehouse. 

"  Whose  child  is  that  ?  "  the  latter  demanded  curi- 
ously. 

"  Mine,"  Burton  groaned.  "  Can  you  guess  what 
has  happened?  " 

Mr.  Waddington  looked  puzzled. 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  235 

**  You  remember  the  day  I  went  down  to  Garden 
Green?  You  gave  me  two  beans  to  give  to  Ellen 
and  the  child.  It  was  before  we  knew  that  their 
action  was  not  permanent." 

"  I  remember  quite  well,"  Mr.  Waddington  con- 
fessed. 

"  You  remember  I  told  you  that  Ellen  threw  them 
both  into  the  street.''  A  man  who  was  wheeling  a 
fruit  barrow  picked  up  one.  I  told  you  about 
that.?  » 

"  Yes ! " 

"  This  child  picked  up  the  other,"  Burton  de- 
clared, solemnly. 

Mr.  Waddington  stared  at  him  blankly. 

*'  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me,"  he  said,  "  that  this 
is  the  ill-dressed,  unwashed,  unmannerly  little  brat 
whom  your  wife  brought  into  the  office  one  day,  and 
who  turned  the  ink  bottles  upside  down  and  rubbed 
the  gum  on  his  hands  ?  " 

"  This  is  the  child,"  Burton  admitted. 

"  God  bless  my  soul !  "  Mr.  Waddington  muttered. 

They  sat  down  together  on  the  top  of  a  case. 
Neither  of  them  found  words  easy. 

"  He's  taken  to  drawing,"  Burton  continued 
slowly,  "  hates  the  life  at  home,  goes  out  for  walks 
with  the  schoolmaster.  He's  got  a  list  of  books  to 
read  —  classics  every  one  of  them." 

"  Poor   little   fellow ! "   Mr.   Waddington    said   to 


234         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 

himself.  "  And  to  think  that  in  three  weeks  or  a 
month  —  " 

"  And  in  the  meantime,"  Burton  interrupted, 
*'  here  he  is  on  my  hands.  He's  run  away  from 
home  —  as  I  did.  I  don't  wonder  at  it.  What  do 
you  advise  me  to  do,  Mr.  Waddington  ?  " 

*'  What  can  you  do  ?  "  Mr.  Waddin^on  replied. 
*'  You  must  keep  him  until  —  " 

"  Upon  children,"  Burton  said  thoughtfully, 
*'  the  effect  may  be  more  lasting.  No  news,  I  sup- 
pose, of  the  tree.'*  " 

Mr.  Waddington  shook  his  head  sorrowfully. 

"  I've  had  a  private  detective  now  working  ever 
since  that  day,"  he  declared.  "  The  man  thinks  me, 
of  course,  a  sort  of  lunatic,  but  I  have  made  it  worth 
his  while  to  find  it.  I  should  think  that  every  child 
in  the  neighborhood  has  been  interviewed.  What 
about  the  novel?  " 

"  Come  back  from  the  publishers,"  Burton  re- 
plied.   "  I  have  sent  it  away  to  some  one  else." 

Mr.  Waddington  looked  at  him  compassionately. 

"  You  were  relying  upon  that,  were  you  not ,''  " 

"  Entirely,"  Burton  admitted.  "  If  I  don't  earn 
some  money  before  Saturday,  I  shan't  know  how 
to  send  the  three  pounds  to  Ellen." 

"  You  had  better,"  Mr.  Waddington  said  gently, 
**  accept  a  trifling  loan." 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it,"  Burton  answered,  hastily. 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  235 

"  Thank  you  all  the  same,  Mr.  Waddington,  but  I 
would  rather  not.  We  will  see  what  happens.  I  am 
going  back  now  to  try  and  write  something." 

They  returned  to  the  office.  Burton  pointed 
towards  the  easy-chair. 

"  Look !  " 

Mr.  Waddington  nodded.  Alfred  had  propped 
up  the  book  of  engravings  before  him,  was  holding 
a  sheet  of  paper  on  the  blotting-pad,  and  with  a 
pencil  was  intently  copying  one  of  the  heads.  They 
crossed  the  room  and  peered  over  his  shoulder.  For 
an  untrained  child  it  was  an  amazing  piece  of  work. 

"  It  is  a  Botticelli  head,"  Mr.  Waddington  whis- 
pered.    "  Look  at  the  outHne." 

The  boy  glanced  up  and  saw  them  standing  there. 
He  excused  himself  gracefully. 

"  You  don't  mind,  sir,  do  you  ?  "  he  asked  Mr. 
Waddington.  "  I  took  a  sheet  of  paper  from  your 
office.  This  head  was  so  wonderful,  I  wanted  to 
carry  away  something  that  would  remind  me  of  it." 

"  If  you  like,"  Mr.  Waddington  offered,  "  I  will 
lend  you  the  book  of  engravings.  Then  when  your 
father  is  busy  you  could  make  copies  of  some  that 
please  you." 

The  boy's  cheeks  were  pink  and  his  eyes  soft. 

"  How  lovely !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Father,  may  I 
have  it?" 

He  left  the  office  with  the  book  clasped  under  his 


236  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

arm.  On  the  way  home,  Burton  bought  him  some 
drawing-paper  and  pencils.  For  the  remainder  of  the 
afternoon  they  both  worked  in  silence.  Of  the  two, 
the  boy  was  the  more  completely  engrossed.  Towards 
five  o'clock  Burton  made  tea,  which  they  took  to- 
gether. Alfred  first  carefully  washed  his  hands,  and 
his  manners  at  table  were  irreproachable.  Burton 
began  to  feel  uncomfortable.  He  felt  that  the  spirit 
of  some  older  person  had  come  to  him  in  childlike 
guise.  There  was  so  little  to  connect  this  boy  with 
the  Alfred  of  his  recollections.  In  looking  over  his 
work,  too.  Burton  was  conscious  of  an  almost  awed 
sense  of  a  power  in  this  child's  fingers  which  could 
have  been  directed  by  no  ordinary  inspiration.  From 
one  to  another  of  those  prints,  the  outlines  of  which 
he  had  committed  to  paper,  the  essential  quality  of 
the  work,  the  underlying  truth,  seemed  inevitably  to 
be  reproduced.  There  were  mistakes  of  perspective 
and  outline,  crudities,  odd  little  touches,  and  often 
a  failure  of  proportion,  and  yet  that  one  fact  always 
remained.  The  meaning  of  the  picture  was  there. 
The  only  human  note  about  the  child  seemed 
to  be  that,  looking  at  him  shortly  after  tea-time, 
Burton  discovered  that  he  had  fallen  asleep  in  his 
chair. 

Burton  took  up  his  hat  and  stole  softly  out  of  the 
room.  As  quickly  as  he  could,  he  made  his  way  to 
the  offices  of  the  Piccadilly  Gazette  and  sought  his 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  237 

friend  the  sub-editor.  The  sub-editor  greeted  him 
with  a  nod. 

"  Heard  about  jour  novel  jet  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  I  had  it  back  this  morning,"  his  caller  replied. 
**  I  have  sent  it  awaj  somewhere  else.  I  have  writ- 
ten jou  a  little  studj  of  *  The  Children  of  London.' 
I  hope  jou  will  like  it." 

The  sub-editor  nodded  and  glanced  it  through. 
He  laid  it  down  bj  his  side  and  for  the  first  time 
there  seemed  to  be  a  shadow  of  hesitation  in  his  tone. 

*'  Don't  force  jourself,  Burton,"  he  advised,  look- 
ing curiouslj  at  his  contributor.  "  We  will  use  this 
in  a  daj  or  two.  You  can  applj  at  the  cashier's 
office  for  jour  cheque  when  jou  like.  But  if  jou 
don't  mind  mj  sajing  so,  there  are  little  touches 
here,  repetitions,  that  might  be  improved,  I  think." 

Burton  thanked  him  and  went  home  with  monej 
in  his  pocket.  He  undressed  the  boj,  who  sleepilj 
demanded  a  bath,  put  him  to  sleep  in  his  own  bed, 
and  threw  himself  into  an  easj-chalr.  It  was  late, 
but  he  had  not  troubled  to  light  a  lamp.  He  sat  for 
hours  looking  out  into  the  shadows.  A  new  respon- 
sibilitj,  indeed,  had  come  into  life.  He  was  power- 
less to  grapple  with  it.  The  grotesqueness  of  the 
situation  appalled  him.  How  could  he  plan  or  dream 
like  other  men  when  the  measure  of  the  child's  ex- 
istence, as  of  his  own,  could  be  counted  bj  weeks  .f* 
For  the  first  time  since  his  emancipation  he  looked 


238  THE   DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

back  into  the  past  without  a  shudder.  If  one  had 
reahzed,  if  one  had  only  taken  a  little  pains,  would 
it  not  have  been  possible  to  have  escaped  from  the 
life  of  bondage  by  less  violent  but  more  permanent 
means?  It  was  only  the  impulse  which  was  lacking. 
He  sat  dreaming  there  until  he  fell  into  a  deep  sleep. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  239 


CHAPTER    XXn 

DOUBTS 

Mr.  Bomford  in  his  town  clothes  was  a  strikingly 
adequate  reflection  of  the  fashion  of  the  times. 
From  the  tips  of  his  patent  boots,  his  neatly  tied 
black  satin  tie,  his  waistcoat  with  its  immaculate 
Avhite  slip,  to  his  glossy  silk  hat,  he  was  an  entirely 
satisfactory  reproduction.  The  caretaker  who  ad- 
mitted him  to  Burton's  rooms  sighed  as  she  let  him 
in.  He  represented  exactly  her  ideal  of  a  gentle- 
man. 

"  Mr.  Burton  and  the  little  boy  are  both  in  the 
sitting-room,  sir,'*  she  announced,  opening  the  door. 
**  A  gentleman  to  see  you,  sir." 

Burton  looked  up  from  his  writing-table  for  a 
moment  somewhat  vaguely.  Mr.  Bomford,  who  had 
withdrawn  his  glove,  held  out  his  hand. 

"  I  trust,  Mr.  Burton,  that  you  have  not  entirely 
forgotten  me,'"  he  said.  "  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
dining  with  you  a  short  time  ago  at  Professor  Cow- 
per's.  You  will  doubtless  remember  our  conversa- 
tion?'* 


240         THE    DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

Burton  welcomed  his  visitor  civilly  and  motioned 
him  to  a  seat.  He  was  conscious  of  feeling  a  little 
disturbed.  Mr.  Bomford  brought  him  once  more 
into  touch  with  memories  which  were  ever  assailing 
liim  by  night  and  by  day. 

*'  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  calling  upon  you, 
Mr.  Burton,"  the  newcomer  continued,  setting  down 
his  silk  hat  upon  a  comer  of  the  table,  and  lifting 
his  coat-tails  preparatory  to  sinking  into  a  chair, 
^'  because  I  believe  that  in  the  excitement  of  our  con- 
versation a  few  nights  ago,  we  did  not  do  adequate 
justice  to  the  sentiments  which  —  er  —  provoked 
our  offer  to  you." 

Mr.  Bomford  sat  down  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
has  spoken  well.  He  was  thoroughly  pleased  with 
liis  opening  sentence. 

"  It  did  not  occur  to  me,"  Burton  replied,  "  that 
there  was  any  possibility  of  misunderstanding  any- 
thing you  or  Professor  Cowper  said.  Still,  it  is  very 
kind  of  you  to  come  and  see  me." 

Alfred,  who  was  drawing  in  colored  chalks  at  the 
other  end  of  the  room,  rose  up  and  approached  his 
father. 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  go  into  the  other  room, 
father  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  can  leave  my  work  quite 
easily  for  a  time,  and  I  have  several  books  there." 

Mr.  Bomford  screwed  an  eyeglass  into  his  eye 
and  looked  across  at  the  child. 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  241 

*'  What  an  extraordinarily  —  forgive  my  remark, 
Mr.  Burton  —  but  what  an  extraordinarily  well- 
behaved  child !    Is  it  possible  that  this  is  your  boy  ?  '* 

Alfred  turned  his  head  and  there  was  no  doubt 
about  the  relationship.  He,  too,  possessed  the  deep- 
set  eyes  with  their  strange,  intense  glow,  the  quiver- 
ing mouth,  the  same  sensitiveness  of  outline. 

"  Yes,  this  is  my  son,"  Burton  admitted,  quietly. 
*'  Go  and  shake  hands  with  Mr.  Bomford,  Alfred." 

The  child  crossed  the  room  and  held  out  his  hand 
with  grave  self-possession. 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  come  and  see  father," 
he  said.  *'  I  am  afraid  that  sometimes  he  is  very 
lonely  here.     I  will  go  away  and  leave  you  to  talk." 

Mr.  Bomford  fumbled  in  his  pocket. 

*'  Dear  me !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Dear  me !  Ah,  here 
is  a  half-crown!  You  must  buy  some  chocolates  or 
something  to-morrow,  young  man.  Or  a  gun,  eh? 
Can  one  buy  a  gun  for  half-a-crown  .'^  " 

Alfred  smiled  at  him. 

*'  It  is  very  kind  of  you,  sir,"  he  said  slowly.  *'  I 
do  not  care  for  chocolate  or  guns,  but  if  my  father 
would  allow  me  to  accept  your  present,  I  should  like 
very  much  to  buy  a  larger  drawing  block." 

Mr.  Bomford  looked  at  the  child  and  looked  at  his 
father. 

"  Buy  anything  you  like,"  he  murmured  weakly, 
—  "  anything  you  like  at  all." 


242         THE   DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

The  child  glanced  towards  his  father.  Burton 
nodded. 

"  Certainly  you  may  keep  the  half-crown,  dear," 
he  assented.  "  It  is  one  of  the  privileges  of  your  age 
to  accept  presents.  Now  run  along  into  the  other 
room,  and  I  will  come  in  and  fetch  you  presently." 

The  child  held  out  his  hand  once  more  to  Mr. 
Bomford. 

"  It  is  exceedingly  kind  of  you  to  give  me  this, 
sir,"  he  said.  "  I  can  assure  you  that  the  drawing 
block  will  be  a  great  pleasure  to  me." 

He  withdrew  with  a  little  nod  and  a  smile.  Mr. 
Bomford  watched  him  pass  into  the  inner  room,  with 
his  mouth  open. 

"  God  bless  my  soul.  Burton ! "  he  exclaimed. 
**  What  an  extraordinary  child !  " 

Burton  laughed,  a  little  hoarsely. 

"  A  few  weeks  ago,"  he  said,  "  that  boy  was  run- 
ning about  the  streets  with  greased  hair,  a  butcher's 
curl,  a  soiled  velveteen  suit,  a  filthy  lace  collar,  dirty 
hands,  torn  stockings,  playing  disreputable  games 
with  all  the  urchins  of  the  neighborhood.  He  mur- 
dered the  Queen's  English  every  time  he  spoke,  and 
spent  his  pennies  on  things  you  suck.  His  mother 
threw  two  of  the  beans  I  had  procured  with  great 
difficulty  for  them  both  into  the  street.  He  picked 
one  up  and  ate  it  —  a  wretched  habit  of  his.  You 
see  the  result." 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  243 

INIr.  Bomford  sat  quite  still  and  breathed  several 
times  before  he  spoke.  It  was  a  sign  with  him  of 
most  intense  emotion. 

"  Mr.  Burton,"  he  declared,  "  if  this  Is  true,  that 
child  Is  even  a  greater  testimony  to  the  efficacy  of 
jour  —  your  beans,  than  you  yourself." 

"  There  is  no  doubt,"  Burton  agreed,  "  that  the 
change  Is  even  greater." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Burton,  with  a 
word  of  excuse,  crossed  the  room  to  open  it.  The 
postman  stood  there  with  a  packet.  It  was  his  novel 
returned  once  more.  He  threw  it  on  to  a  table  in 
the  corner  and  returned  to  his  place. 

"  Mr.  Burton,"  his  visitor  continued,  "  for  the 
first  time  in  my  life  —  and  I  may  say  that  I  have 
been  accustomed  to  public  speaking  and  am  con- 
sidered to  have  a  fair  choice  of  words  —  for  the 
first  time  In  my  life  I  confess  that  I  find  myself  In 
trouble  as  to  exactly  how  to  express  myself.  I  want 
to  convince  you.  I  am  myself  entirely  and  abso- 
lutely convinced  as  to  the  justice  of  the  cause  I 
plead.  I  want  you  to  reconsider  your  decision  of  the 
other  night." 

Burton  shook  his  head. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  uneasily,  "  that  that  Is 
not  possible." 

Mr.  Bomford  cleared  his  throat.  He  was  only  ex- 
ternally a  fool. 


244         THE   DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

"  Mr.  Burton,"  he  declared,  "  you  are  an  artist. 
Your  child  has  the  makings  of  a  great  artist.  Have 
you  no  desire  to  travel?  Have  you  no  desire  to  see 
the  famous  picture  galleries  and  cities  of  the  Conti- 
nent, cities  which  have  been  the  birthplaces  of  the 
men  whose  works  you  and  your  son  in  days  to  come 
will  regard  with  so  much  reverence?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  travel  very  much  indeed,"  Bur- 
ton admitted. 

"  It  is  the  opportunity  to  travel  which  we  offer 
you,"  Mr.  Bomford  reminded  him.  "  It  is  the  op- 
portunity to  surround  yourself  with  beautiful  ob- 
jects, the  opportunity  to  make  your  life  free  from 
anxieties,  a  cultured  phase  of  being  during  which, 
removed  from  all  material  cares,  you  can  —  er  — 
develop  yourself  and  the  boy  in  any  direction  you 
choose." 

Mr.  Bomford  stopped  and  coughed.  Again  he 
was  pleased  with  himself. 

"  Money  is  only  vulgar,"  he  went  on,  "  to  vulgar 
minds.  And  remember  this  —  that  underlying  the 
whole  thing  there  is  Truth.  The  beans  which  you 
and  the  boy  have  eaten  do  contain  something  of  the 
miraculous.  Those  same  constituents  would  be 
blended  in  the  preparation  which  we  shall  offer  to 
the  public.  Have  you  no  faith  in  them?  Why 
should  you  not  believe  it  possible  that  the  ingredi- 
ents which  have  made  so  great  a  change  in  you  and 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  245 

.that  child,  may  not  influence  for  the  better  the  whole 
world  of  your  fellow-creatures?  Omit  for  a  moment 
the  reflection  that  you  yourself  would  benefit  so  much 
by  the  acceptance  of  my  off'er.  Consider  only  your 
fellow  human  creatures.  Don't  you  realize  —  can't 
you  see  that  in  acceding  to  our  offer  you  will  be 
acting  the  part  of  a  philanthropist  ?  " 

*'  Mr.  Bomford,"  Burton  said,  leaning  a  little  for- 
ward, "  in  all  your  arguments  you  forget  one  thing. 
My  stock  of  these  beans  is  already  perilously  low. 
When  they  are  gone,  I  remain  no  more  what  I  hope 
and  believe  I  am  at  the  present  moment.  Once  more 
I  revert  to  the  impossible:  I  become  the  auction- 
eer's clerk  —  a  commonplace,  material,  vulgar,  ob- 
jectionable little  bounder,  whose  doings  and  feelings 
I  sometimes  dimly  remember.  Can't  you  imagine 
what  sort  of  use  a  person  like  that  would  make  of 
wealth .'^  In  justice  to  him,  in  justice  to  the  myself 
of  the  future,  I  cannot  place  such  temptations  in 
his  way," 

Mr.  Bomford  was  staggered. 

**  I  find  it  hard  to  follow  you,"  he  admitted. 
"  You  will  not  accept  my  offer  because  you  are 
afraid  that  when  the  effect  of  these  beans  has  worn 
off,  you  will  misuse  the  wealth  which  will  come  to 
you  —  is  that  it?  " 

"  That  is  the  entire  truth,"  Burton  confessed. 

*'  Have   you    asked   yourself,"   Mr.    Bomford   de- 


246         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

manded,  impressively,  "  whether  jou  have  a  right  to 
treat  your  other  self  in  this  fashion?  Your  other 
self  will  assuredly  resent  it,  if  you  retain  your  mem- 
ory. Your  other  self  would  hate  your  present  self 
for  its  short-sighted,  quixotic  folly.  I  tell  you 
frankly  that  you  have  not  the  right  to  treat  your 
coming  self  in  this  way.  Consider!  Wealth  does 
not  inevitably  vulgarize.  On  the  contrary,  it  takes 
you  away  from  the  necessity  of  associating  with  peo- 
ple calculated  to  depress  and  cramp  your  life.  There 
are  many  points  of  view  which  I  am  sure  you  have 
not  adequately  considered.  Take  the  case  of  our 
friend  Professor  Cowper,  for  instance.  He  is  a  poor 
man  with  a  scientific  hobby  in  which  he  is  burning 
to  indulge.  Why  deprive  him  of  the  opportunity? 
There  is  his  daughter  —  " 

*'  I  will  reconsider  the  matter,"  Burton  inter- 
rupted, hastily.     "  I  cannot  say  more  than  that." 

Mr.  Bomford  signified  his  satisfaction. 

**  I  am  convinced,"  he  said,  "  that  you  will  come 
around  to  our  way  of  thinking.  I  proceed  now  to 
the  second  reason  of  my  visit  to  you  this  afternoon. 
Professor  Cowper  and  his  daughter  are  doing  me 
the  honor  to  dine  with  me  to-night  at  the  Milan. 
I  beg  that  you  will  join  us." 

Burton  sat  for  some  time  without  reply.  For  a 
moment  the  strong  wave  of  humanity  which  swept 
up  from  his  heart  and  set  his  pulses  leaping,  set  the 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  247 

music  beating  in  the  air,  terrified  him.  Surely  this 
could  mean  but  one  thing!  He  waited  almost  in 
agony  for  the  thoughts  which  might  fill  his  brain. 

*'  Miss  Cowper,"  Mr.  Bomford  continued,  "  has 
been  much  upset  since  your  hasty  departure  from 
Leagate.  She  is  conscious  of  some  mistake  —  some 
foolish  speech." 

Burton  drew  a  little  sigh  of  relief.  After  all, 
what  he  had  feared  was  not  coming.  He  saw  the 
flaw,  he  felt  even  now  the  revulsion  of  feeling  with 
which  her  words  had  inspired  him.  Yet  the  other 
things  remained.  She  was  still  wonderful.  It  was 
still  she  who  was  the  presiding  genius  of  that  senti- 
mental garden, 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  he  murmured. 

"  We  shall  expect  you,"  Mr.  Bomford  declared, 
"  at  a  quarter  past  eight  this  evening." 


248         THE    DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

CONDEMNED  ! 

To  Burton,  who  was  in  those  days  an  epicure  in 
sensations,  there  was  something  almost  ecstatic  in 
the  pleasure  of  that  evening.  They  dined  at  a  little 
round  table  in  the  most  desirable  comer  of  the  room 
—  the  professor  and  Edith,  Mr.  Bomford  and  him- 
self. The  music  of  one  of  the  most  famous  orches- 
tras in  Europe  alternately  swelled  and  died  away, 
always  with  the  backgroimd  of  that  steady  hum  of 
cheerful  conversation.  It  was  his  first  experience  of 
a  restaurant  de  luxe.  He  looked  about  him  in 
amazed  wonder.  He  had  expected  to  find  himself  in 
a  palace  of  gilt,  to  find  the  prevailing  note  of  the 
place  an  unrestrained  and  inartistic  gorgeousness. 
He  found  instead  that  the  decorations  everywhere 
were  of  spotless  white,  the  whole  effect  one  of  culti- 
vated and  restful  harmony.  The  glass  and  linen 
on  the  table  were  perfect.  There  was  nowhere  the 
slightest  evidence  of  any  ostentation.  Within  a  few 
feet  of  him,  separated  only  by  that  little  space  of 
tablecloth  and  a  great  bowl  of  pink  roses,  sat  Edith, 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  249 

dressed  as  he  had  never  seen  her  before,  a  most 
becoming  flush  upon  her  cheeks,  a  new  and  softer 
brilhancy  in  her  eyes,  which  seemed  always  to  be 
seeking  his.  They  drank  champagne,  to  the  taste 
and  effects  of  which  he  was  as  yet  unaccustomed. 
Burton  felt  its  inspiring  effect  even  though  he  him- 
self drank  little. 

The  conversation  was  always  interesting.  The 
professor  talked  of  Assyria,  and  there  was  no  man 
who  had  had  stranger  experiences.  He  talked  with 
the  eloquence  and  fervor  of  a  man  who  speaks  of 
things  which  have  become  a  passion  with  him;  so 
vividly,  indeed,  that  more  than  once  he  seemed  to 
carry  his  listeners  with  him,  back  through  the  ages, 
back  into  actual  touch  with  the  life  of  thousands  of 
years  ago,  which  he  described  with  such  full  and 
picturesque  detail.  Not  at  any  time  during  the 
dinner  was  the  slightest  allusion  made  to  that  last 
heated  interview  which  had  taken  place  between  the 
three  men.  Even  when  they  sat  out  in  the  palm  court 
afterwards,  and  smoked  and  listened  to  the  band  and 
watched  the  people,  Mr.  Bomford  only  distantly 
alluded  to  it. 

**  I  want  to  ask  you,  Mr.  Burton,"  he  said,  "  what 
you  think  of  your  surroundings  —  of  the  restaurant 
and  your  neighbors  on  every  side  ?  " 

"  The  restauiant  is  very  beautiful,"  Burton  ad- 
mitted.    *'  The  whole  place  seems  delightful.     One 


250         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 

can  only  judge  of  the  people  by  their  appearance. 
That,  at  any  rate,  is  in  their  favor." 

Mr.  Bomford  nodded  approvingly. 

"  I  will  admit,  Mr.  Burton,"  he  continued,  lean- 
ing a  little  towards  him,  *'  that  one  of  my  objects  in 
asking  you  to  dine  this  evening,  apart  from  the 
pleasure  of  your  company,  was  to  prove  to  you  the 
truth  of  one  of  my  remarks  the  other  evening  — 
that  the  expenditure  of  money  need  not  necessarily 
be  associated  with  vulgarity.  This  is  a  restaurant 
which  only  the  rich  could  afford  to  patronize  save 
occasionally,  yet  you  see  for  yourself  that  the  prom- 
inent note  here  is  a  subdued  and  artistic  tastefulness. 
The  days  of  loud  colors  and  of  the  flamboyant  life 
are  past.  Money  to-day  is  the  handmaiden  to  cul- 
ture." 

Exceedingly  pleased  with  his  speech,  Mr.  Bomford 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  lighted  a  half-crown 
cigar.  Presently,  without  any  visible  co-operation  on 
their  part,  a  little  scheme  was  carried  into  effect  by 
the  professor  and  Mr.  Bomford.  The  latter  rose 
and  crossed  to  the  other  side  of  the  room  to  speak 
to  some  friends.  A  few  moments  later  he  beckoned 
to  the  professor.  Edith  and  Burton  were  alone. 
She  drew  a  deep  sigh  of  relief  and  turned  towards 
him  as  though  expecting  him  to  say  something. 
Burton,  however,  was  silent.  He  had  never  seen  her 
quite  like  this.     She  wore  a  plain  white  satin  dress 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  251 

and  a  string  of  pearls  about  her  neck,  which  he  saw 
for  the  first  time  entirely  exposed.  The  excitement 
of  the  evening  had  brought  a  delicate  flush  to  her 
face;  the  blue  in  her  eyes  was  more  wonderful  here, 
even,  than  out  in  the  sunlight.  Amid  many  toilettes 
of  more  complicated  design,  the  exquisite  and  en- 
tire simplicity  of  her  gown  and  hair  and  ornaments 
was  delightful. 

*'  You  are  quiet  this  evening,"  she  whispered.  "  I 
wish  I  could  know  what  you  are  thinking  of  all  the 
time." 

*'  There  is  nothing  in  my  thoughts  or  in  my 
heart,"  he  answered,  "  which  I  would  not  tell  you  if 
I  could.  Evenings  like  this,  other  evenings  which 
you  and  I  have  spent  together  in  still  more  beautiful 
places,  have  been  like  little  perfect  epochs  in  an 
imperfect  life.  Yet  all  the  time  one  is  haunted.  I 
am  haunted  here  to-night,  even,  as  I  sit  by  your 
side.  I  move  through  life  a  condemned  man,  I 
know  it  for  I  have  proved  it.  Before  very  long  the 
man  whom  you  know,  who  sits  by  your  side  at  this 
moment,  who  is  your  slave,  dear,  must  pass." 

"  You  can  never  altogether  change,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

His  hands  clasped  the  small  silver  box  in  his 
pocket. 

"  In  a  few  months,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "  unless  we 
can  find  the  missing  plant,  I  shall  be  again  the  com- 


252  THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 

mon  little  clerk  who  came  and  peered  over  your 
hedge  at  you  in  the  summer." 

She  smiled  a  little  incredulously. 

*'  Even  when  you  tell  me  so,"  she  insisted,  "  I 
cannot  believe  it." 

He  drew  his  chair  closer  to  hers.  He  looked 
around  him  nervously,  the  horror  was  in  his  eyes. 

"  Since  I  saw  you  last,"  he  continued,  "  I  have 
been  very  nearly  like  it.  I  couldn't  travel  alone, 
I  bought  silly  comic  papers,  I  played  nap  with  young 
men  who  talked  of  nothing  but  their  '  shop  '  and 
their  young  ladies.  I  have  been  to  a  public-house, 
drunk  beer,  and  shaken  hands  with  the  barmaid.  I 
was  even  disappointed  when  one  of  them  —  a  crea- 
ture with  false  hair,  a  loud,  rasping  voice  and  painted 
lips  —  was  not  there.  Just  in  time  I  took  one  of  my 
beans  and  became  myself  again,  but  Edith,  I  have 
only  two  more.  When  they  are  gone  there  is  an  end 
of  me.  That  is  why  I  sit  here  by  your  side  at  this 
moment  and  feel  myself  a  condemned  man.  I  think 
that  when  I  feel  the  change  coming  I  shall  throw 
myself  over  into  the  river.  I  could  not  bear  the 
other  life  again !  " 

*'  Absurd !  "  she  declared. 

"  If  I  believed,"  he  went  on,  "  that  I  could  carry 
with  me  across  that  curious  boundary  enough  of 
(decency,  enough  of  my  present  feelings,  to  keep  us 
wholly  apart,  I  would  be  happier.     It  is  one  of  the 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  253 

terrors  of  my  worst  moments  when  I  think  that  in 
the  months  or  years  to  come  I  may  again  be  tempted 
—  no,  not  I,  but  Alfred  Burton  of  Garden  Green 
may  be  tempted  —  to  look  once  more  across  the 
hedge  for  you." 

She  smiled  reassuringly  at  him. 

"  You  do  not  terrify  me  in  the  least.  I  shall  ask 
you  in  to  tea." 

He  groaned. 

"  My  speech  will  be  Cockney  and  my  manners  a 
little  forward,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  misery.  "  If 
I  see  your  piano  I  shall  want  to  vamp," 

"  I  think,"  she  murmured,  "  that  for  the  sake  of 
the  Alfred  Burton  who  is  sitting  by  my  side  to-night, 
I  shall  still  be  kind  to  you.  Perhaps  you  will  not 
need  my  sympathy,  though.  Perhaps  you  will  adapt 
yourself  wholly  to  your  new  life  when  the  time 
comes." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  There  are  cells  in  one's  memory,"  he  muttered. 
"  I  don't  understand  —  I  don't  know  how  they  get 
there  —  but  don't  you  remember  that  time  last  sum- 
mer when  I  was  picnicking  with  my  common  friends  ? 
We  were  drinking  beer  out  of  a  stone  jug,  we  were 
singing  vulgar  songs,  we  were  revelling  in  the  silly 
puerilities  of  a  bank  holiday  out  of  doors.  And  I 
saw  your  face  and  something  came  to  me.  I  saw 
for  a  moment  over  the  wall.     Dear,  I  am  very  sure 


254         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 
that  if  I  go  back  there  will  be  times  when  I  shall 
see  over  the  wall,  and  my  heart  will  ache  and  the 
whole   taste    of   life   will   be   like   dust   between   my 
teeth." 

She  leaned  towards  him. 

"  It  is  your  fault  if  I  say  this,"  she  whispered. 
*'  It  is  you  yourself  who  have  prepared  the  way. 
Why  not  make  sure  of  riches?  The  world  can  give 
so  much  to  the  rich.  You  can  buy  education,  man- 
ners, taste.  Anything,  surely,  would  be  better  than 
taking  up  the  life  of  an  auctioneer's  clerk  once 
more?  With  riches  you  can  at  least  get  away  from 
the  most  oppressive  forms  of  vulgarity." 

"  I  wish  I  could  believe  it,"  he  replied.  *'  The 
poor  man  is,  as  a  rule,  natural.  The  rich  man  has 
the  taste  of  other  things  on  his  palate ;  he  has  looked 
over  the  wrong  wall,  he  apes  what  he  sees  in  the 
wrong  garden." 

"  Not  always,"  she  pleaded.  "  Don't  you  be- 
lieve that  something  will  remain  of  these  splendid 
months  of  yours  —  some  will  power,  some  faint  im- 
pulse towards  the  choicer  ways  of  life?  Oh,  it  really 
must  be  so !  "  she  went  on,  more  confidently.  "  I 
am  sure  of  it.  I  think  of  you  as  you  are  now,  how 
carefully  you  control  even  your  emotions,  how  sen- 
sitive you  always  are  in  your  speech,  and  I  know 
that  you  could  never  revert  entirely  to  those  other 
days.    You  may  slip  back,  and  slip  back  a  long  way, 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  255 

but  there  would  always  be  something  to  keep  you 
from  the  depths." 

Her  eyes  were  glowing.  Her  fingers  deliberately 
touched  his  for  a  moment. 

"  It  is  wonderful  to  hope  that  it  may  be  so,"  he 
sighed.  *'  Even  as  I  sit  here  and  remember  that 
awful  picnic  party,  I  remember,  too,  that  something 
drew  me  a  little  away  from  the  others  to  gaze  into 
your  garden  and  at  you.  There  was  something, 
even  then,  which  kept  me  from  being  with  them  while 
I  looked,  and  I  know  that  at  that  moment,  at  the 
moment  I  looked  up  and  met  your  eyes,  I  know  that 
there  was  no  vulgar  thought  in  my  heart." 

"  Dear,"  she  said,  "  with  every  word  you  make  me 
the  more  inclined  to  persist.  I  honestly  believe  that 
father  and  Mr.  Bomford  are  right.  It  is  your  duty. 
You  owe  it  to  yourself  to  accept  their  offer." 

He  sat  for  several  minutes  without  speech. 

"  If  I  could  only  make  you  understand ! "  he  went 
on  at  last.  "  Somehow,  I  feel  as  though  it  would 
be  making  almost  a  vulgar  use  of  something  which 
is  to  me  divine.  These  strange  little  things  which 
Mr.  Bomford  would  have  me  barter  for  money, 
brought  me  out  of  the  unclean  world  and  showed 
me  how  beautiful  life  might  be  —  showed  me,  in- 
deed, what  beauty  really  is.  There  is  no  religion 
has  ever  brought  such  joy  to  the  heart  of  a  man, 
nor  any  love,  nor  any  of  the  great  passions  of  the 


256         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 

world  have  opened  such  gates  as  they  have  done  for 
me.  You  can't  imagine  what  the  hideous  life  is 
like  —  the  life  of  vulgar  days,  of  ugly  surroundings, 
the  dull  and  ceaseless  trudge  side  by  side  with  the 
multitude  across  the  sterile  plain,  without  the  power 
to  raise  one's  eyes,  without  the  power  to  stretch  out 
one's  arms  and  feel  the  throb  of  freedom  in  one's 
pulses.  If  I  die  to-morrow,  I  shall  at  least  have  lived 
for  a  little  time,  thanks  to  these.  Can  you  wonder 
that  I  think  of  them  with  reverence?  Yet  you  ask 
me  to  make  use  of  one  of  them  to  help  launch  upon 
the  world  a  patent  food,  something  built  upon  the 
credulity  of  fools,  something  whose  praises  must  be 
sung  in  blatant  advertisements,  desecrating  the 
pages  of  magazines,  gaping  from  the  hoardings, 
thrust  inside  the  chinks  of  human  simplicity  by  the 
art  of  the  advertising  agent.  Edith,  it  is  a  hard 
thing,  this.  Do  try  and  realize  how  hard  it  is.  If 
there  be  anything  in  the  world  divine,  if  there  be 
anything  sacred  at  all,  anything  to  lift  one  from  the 
common  way,  it  is  what  you  ask  me  to  sacrifice." 

*'  You  are  such  a  sentimentalist,  dear,"  she  whis- 
pered. "  You  need  have  no  share  in  the  commercial 
part  of  this.  The  money  can  simply  keep  you  while 
you  write,  or  help  you  to  travel." 

"  It  will  lead  that  other  fellow,"  he  groaned, 
**  into  no  end  of  mischief." 

The  professor  and  Mr.  Bomford  returned.     They 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  257 

talked  for  a  little  time  together  and  then  the  party 
broke  up.  As  they  waited  for  Edith  to  get  her 
cloak,  Burton  spoke  the  few  words  which  they  were 
both  longing  to  hear. 

**  Mr.  Bomford,"  he  announced,  "  and  professor, 
I  should  like  to  see  you  to-morrow.  I  am  going  to 
think  over  this  matter  to-night  once  more.  It  is 
very  possible  that  I  may  see  my  way  clear  to  do  as 
you  ask." 

"  Mr.  Burton,  sir,"  the  professor  said,  grasping 
his  hand,  "  I  congratulate  you.  I  felt  sure  that 
your  common  sense  would  assert  itself.  Let  me  as- 
sure you  of  one  thing,  too.  Indirectly  you  will  be 
the  cause  of  marvelous  discoveries,  enlightening  dis- 
coveries, being  made  as  to  the  source  of  some  of 
that  older  civilization  which  still  bewilders  the  stu- 
dent of  prehistoric  days." 

Mr.  Bomford  had  less  to  say  but  he  was  quite  as 
emphatic. 

"  If  you  only  think  hard  enough,  Mr.  Burton," 
he  declared,  "  you  can't  make  a  mistake." 

He  saw  them  into  the  motor,  Edith  in  a  cloak  of 
lace  which  made  her  seem  like  some  dainty,  fairylike 
creature  as  she  stepped  from  the  pavement  into  a 
corner  of  the  landaulette.  Afterwards,  he  walked 
with  uplifted  heart  through  the  streets  and  back  to 
his  rooms.  He  let  himself  in  with  a  mechanical  turn 
of  the  key.     On  the  threshold  he  stood  still  in  sudden 


258  THE    DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

amazement.  The  lights  were  all  turned  on,  the  room 
was  in  rank  disorder.  Simmering  upon  the  hearth 
were  the  remains  of  his  novel;  upset  upon  the  table 
several  pots  of  paint.  Three  chairs  were  lashed  to- 
gether with  a  piece  of  rope.  On  a  fourth  sat  Alfred, 
cracking  a  home-made  whip.  His  hands  were  cov- 
ered with  coal-dust,  traces  of  which  were  smeared 
upon  his  cheeks.  There  were  spots  of  ink  all  down 
his  clothes,  his  eyes  seemed  somehow  to  have  crept 
closer  together.  There  were  distinct  signs  of  a  tend- 
ency on  the  part  of  his  hair  to  curl  over  a  certain 
spot  on  his  forehead.  He  looked  at  his  father  like 
a  whipped  hound  but  he  said  never  a  word. 

"What  on  earth  have  you  been  doing,  Alfred?" 
Burton  faltered. 

The  boy  dropped  his  whip  and  put  his  finger  in 
his  mouth.  He  was  obviously  on  the  point  of  howl- 
ing. 

"  You  left  me  here  all  alone,"  he  said,  in  an  ag- 
grieved tone.  "  There  was  no  one  to  play  with, 
nothing  to  do.  I  want  to  go  back  to  mother;  I 
want  Ned  and  Dick  to  play  with.  Don't  want  to 
stop  here  any  longer." 

He  began  to  howl.  Burton  looked  around  once 
more  at  the  scene  of  his  desolation.  He  moved  to  the 
fireplace  and  gazed  down  at  the  charred  remnants 
of  his  novel.     The  boy  continued  to  howl. 


Edith,  looking  like  an  exquisite  picture,  was  sitting  by  his 
side.      Page  259. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  259 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

MENATOGEN,    THE    MIND    FOOD 

It  had  been  a  dinner  of  celebration.  The  pro- 
fessor had  ransacked  his  cellar  and  produced  his 
best  wine.  He  had  drunk  a  good  deal  of  it  himself 
—  so  had  Mr.  Bomf ord.  A  third  visitor,  Mr.  Hor- 
ace Bunsome,  a  company  promoter  from  the  city, 
had  been  even  more  assiduous  in  his  attentions  to 
a  particular  brand  of  champagne. 

Burton  had  been  conscious  of  a  sense  of  drifting^ 
The  more  human  side  of  him  was  paramount.  The 
dinner  was  perfect ;  the  long,  low  dining-room,  with 
its  bowls  of  flowers  and  quaint  decorations,  delight- 
ful ;  the  wine  and  food  the  best  of  their  sort.  Edith, 
looking  like  an  exquisite  picture,  was  sitting  by  his 
side.  After  all,  if  the  end  of  things  were  to  come 
this  way,  what  did  it  matter?  She  had  no  eyes  for 
any  one  else,  her  fingers  had  touched  his  more  than 
once.  The  complete  joy  of  living  was  in  his  pulses. 
He,  too,  had  yielded  to  the  general  spirit. 

Edith  left  them  late  and  reluctantly.  Then  the 
professor  raised  his  glass.  There  was  an  unaccus- 
tomed  color   in   his   parchment-white   cheeks.      His 


26o         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 

spectacles  were  sitting  at  a  new  angle,  his  black  tic 
had  wandered  from  its  usual  precise  place  around 
to  the  side  of  his  neck. 

"  Let  us  drink,"  he  exclaimed,  "  to  the  new  com- 
pany !  To  the  new  Mind  Food,  to  the  new  scien- 
tific diet  of  the  coming  century !  Let  us  drink  to 
ourselves,  the  pioneers  of  this  wonderful  discovery, 
the  manufacturers  and  owners-to-be  of  the  new  food,^ 
the  first  of  its  kind  created  and  designed  to  satisfy 
the  moral  appetite." 

"  We'll  have  a  little  of  that  in  the  prospectus," 
Mr.  Horace  Bunsome  remarked,  taking  out  his  note- 
book.    "  It  sounds  mighty  good,  professor." 

"  It  sounds  good  because  it  is  true,  sir,"  Mr.  Cow- 
per  asserted,  a  little  severely.  "  Your  services,  Mr. 
Bunsome,  are  necessary  to  us,  but  I  beg  that  you 
will  not  confound  the  enterprise  in  which  you  will 
presently  find  yourself  engaged,  with  any  of  the 
hazardous,  will-o*-the-wisp  undertakings  which  spring 
up  day  by  day,  they  tell  me,  in  the  city,  and  which 
owe  their  very  existence  and  such  measure  of  suc- 
cess as  they  may  achieve,  to  the  credulity  of  fools. 
Let  me  impress  upon  you,  Mr.  Bunsome,  that  you 
are,  on  this  occasion,  associated  with  a  genuine  and 
marvelous  discovery  —  the  scientific  discovery,  sir, 
of  the  age.  You  are  going  to  be  one  of  those  who 
will  offer  to  the  world  a  genuine  —  an  absolutely 
genuine  tonic  to  the  moral  system." 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  261 

Mr.  Bunsome  nodded  approvingly. 

*'  The  more  I  hear  you  talk,"  he  declared,  "  the 
more  I  like  the  sound  of  it.  People  are  tired  of  brain 
foods  and  nerv^e  foods.  A  food  for  the  moral  self! 
Professor,  you're  a  genius." 

"  I  am  nothing  of  the  sort,  sir,"  the  professor 
answered.  "  My  share  in  this  is  trifling.  The  dis- 
covery is  the  discovery  of  our  friend  here,"  he  con- 
tinued, indicating  Burton.  "  The  idea  of  exploit- 
ing it  is  the  idea  of  Mr.  Bomford.  .  .  .  My  young 
friend  Burton,  you,  at  least,  must  rejoice  with  us 
to-night.  You  must  rejoice,  in  your  heart,  that  our 
wise  counsels  have  prevailed.  You  must  feel  that 
you  have  done  a  great  and  a  good  action  in  sharing 
this  inheritance  of  yours  with  millions  of  your  fel- 
low-creatures." 

Burton  leaned  a  little  forward  in  his  place. 

**  Professor,"  he  said,  "  remember  that  there  are 
only  two  small  beans,  each  less  than  the  size  of  a 
sixpence,  which  I  have  handed  over  to  you.  As  to 
the  qualities  which  they  possess,  there  is  no  shadow 
of  doubt  about  them  for  I  myself  am  a  proof.  Yet 
you  take  one's  breath  away  with  your  schemes.  How 
could  you,  out  of  two  beans,  provide  a  food  for 
millions  ?  " 

The  professor  smiled. 

"  Science  will  do  it,  my  dear  Mr.  Burton,"  he 
replied,  with  some  note  of  patronage  in  his  tone. 


262         THE   DOUBLE    LIFE   OF 

"  science,  the  highways  of  which  to  you  are  an  un- 
trodden road.  I  myself  am  a  chemist.  I  myself, 
before  I  felt  the  call  of  Assyria,  have  made  discov- 
eries not  wholly  unimportant.  This  afternoon  I 
spent  four  hours  in  my  laboratory  with  one  of  your 
beans.  I  tell  you  frankly  that  I  have  discovered 
constituents  in  that  small  article  which  absolutely 
stupefy  me,  qualities  which  no  substance  on  earth 
that  I  know  of,  in  the  vegetable  or  mineral  world, 
possesses.  Yet  within  a  week,  the  chemist  whom  I 
have  engaged  to  come  to  my  assistance  and  I  will 
assuredly  have  resolved  that  little  bean  into  a  definite 
formula.  When  we  have  done  that,  the  rest  is  easy. 
Its  primary  constituents  will  form  the  backbone  of 
our  new  food.  If  we  are  only  able  to  reproduce 
them  in  trifling  quantities,  then  we  must  add  a  larger 
proportion  of  some  harmless  and  negative  substance. 
The  matter  is  simple." 

"  No  worry  about  that,  that  I  can  see,"  INIr.  Bun- 
some  remarked.  "  So  long  as  we  have  this  testimony 
of  Mr.  Burton's,  and  the  professor's  introduction 
and  explanation,  we  don't  really  need  the  bean  at 
all.  We've  only  got  to  print  his  story,  get  hold  of 
some  tasteless  sort  of  stuff  that  no  one  can  exactly 
analyze,  and  the  whole  thing's  done  so  far  as  we  are 
concerned.  Of  course,  whether  it  takes  on  or  not 
with  the  public  is  always  a  bit  of  a  risk,  but  the  risk 
doesn't  lie  with  us  to  control.     It  depends  entirely 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  263 

upon  the  advertisements.  If  we  are  able  to  engage 
Rentoul,  and  raise  enough  money  to  give  him  a  free 
hand  for  the  posters  as  well  as  the  literary  matter, 
why  then,  I  tell  you,  this  moral  food  will  turn  out 
to  be  the  greatest  boom  of  the  generation." 

Mr.  Cowper  moved  a  little  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

"  Yours,  Mr.  Bunsome,"  he  said,  "  is  purely  the 
commercial  point  of  view.  So  far  as  Mr.  Burton 
and  I  are  concerned,  and  Mr.  Bomford,  too,  you 
must  please  remember  that  we  are  profoundly  and 
absolutely  convinced  of  the  almost  miraculous  prop- 
erties of  this  preparation.  Its  romantic  history  is 
a  thing  we  have  thoroughly  attested.  Our  only  fear 
at  the  present  moment  is  that  too  large  a  quantity 
of  the  constituents  of  the  beans  which  Mr.  Burton 
has  handed  over  to  me,  may  be  found  to  be  distilled 
from  Oriental  herbs  brought  by  that  old  student 
from  the  East.  However,  of  that  in  a  few  days' 
time  we  shall  of  course  be  able  to  speak  more  defin- 
itely." 

Mr.  Bunsome  coughed. 

"  Anyway,"  he  declared,  "  that  Isn't  my  show. 
My  part  is  to  get  the  particulars  of  this  thing  into 
shape,  draft  a  prospectus,  and  engage  Rentoul  if 
we  can  raise  the  money.  I  presume  Mr.  Burton  will 
have  no  objection  to  our  using  his  photograph  on 
the  posters?  " 

Burton  shivered.    ' 


264         THE    DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

*'  You  must  not  think  of  such  a  thing !  "  he  said, 
harshly. 

Mr.  Bunsome  was  disappointed. 

*'  A  picture  of  yourself  as  you  were  as  an  auction- 
eer's clerk,"  he  remarked,  thoughtfully,  —  *'  a  little 
gay  in  the  costume,  perhaps,  rakish-looking  hat  and 
tie,  you  know,  and  that  sort  of  thing,  leaning  over 
the  bar,  say,  of  a  public-house  —  and  a  picture  of 
yourself  as  you  are  now,  writing  in  a  library  one 
of  those  little  articles  of  yours  —  the  two  together, 
now,  one  each  side,  would  have  a  distinct  and  con- 
vincing effect." 

Burton  rose  abruptly  to  his  feet. 

"  These  details,"  he  said,  "  I  must  leave  to  Mr. 
Cowper.  You  have  the  beans.  I  have  done  my 
share." 

The  professor  caught  hold  of  his  arm. 

**  Sit  down,  my  dear  fellow  —  sit  down,"  he 
begged.  "  We  have  not  finished  our  discussion. 
The  whole  subject  is  most  engrossing.  We  cannot 
have  you  hurrying  away.  Mr.  Bunsome's  sugges- 
tion is,  of  course,  hideously  Philistine,  but,  after  all, 
we  want  the  world  to  know  the  truth." 

"  But  the  truth  about  me,"  Burton  protested, 
*'  may  not  be  the  truth  about  this  food.  How  do 
you  know  that  you  can  reproduce  the  beans  at  all 
in  an  artificial  manner?  " 

"  Science,  my  young  friend  —  science,"  the  pro- 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  265 

fessor  murmured.  "  I  tell  you  that  the  problem  is 
already  nearly  solved." 

"  Supposing  you  do  solve  it,"  Burton  continued, 
"  supposing  you  do  produce  a  food  which  will  have 
the  same  effect  as  the  beans,  do  you  realize  what  you 
are  doing.?  You  will  create  a  revolution.  You  will 
break  up  life-long  friendships,  you  will  revolutionize 
business,  you  will  swamp  the  divorce  courts,  you  will 
destroy  the  whole  fabric  of  social  life  for  at  least 
a  generation.  Truth  is  the  most  glorious  thing 
which  the  brain  of  man  ever  conceived,  but  I  myself 
have  had  some  experience  of  the  strange  position 
one  occupies  who  has  come  under  its  absolutely  com- 
pelling influence.  The  world  as  it  is  run  to-day 
could  never  exist  for  a  week  without  its  leaven  of 
lies." 

Mr.  Bunsome  looked  mystified.  The  professor, 
however,  inclined  his  head  sympathetically. 

"  It  is  my  intention,"  he  remarked,  "  in  drafting 
my  final  prescription,  that  the  action  of  the  food 
shall  not  be  so  violent.  If  the  quantities  are  less 
strenuously  mixed,  the  food,  as  you  can  surmise, 
will  be  so  much  the  milder.  A  gentle  preference  for 
truth,  a  dawning  appreciation  of  beauty,  a  gradual 
withdrawal  from  the  grosser  things  of  life  —  these 
may,  perhaps,  be  conceived  after  a  week's  trial  of  the 
food.  Then  a  regular  course  of  it  —  say  for  six 
months  or  so  —  would  build  up  these  tendencies  till 


266         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 

they  became  a  part  of  character.  The  change,  as 
you  see,  would  not  be  too  sudden.  That  is  my  idea, 
Bomford.  We  have  not  heard  much  from  you  this 
evening.    What  do  you  think?  " 

"  I  agree  with  you  entirely,  professor,"  Mr.  Bom- 
ford pronounced.  "  For  many  reasons  it  will  be  as 
well,  I  think,  to  render  the  food  a  little  less  violent 
in  its  effects." 

Mr.  Bunsome  began  to  chuckle  to  himself.  An 
imperfectly  developed  sense  of  humor  was  asserting 
itself. 

"  It's  a  funny  idea !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  The  more 
one  thinks  of  it,  the  funnier  it  becomes.  Supposing 
for  a  moment  —  you  all  take  it  so  seriously  —  sup- 
posing for  a  moment  that  the  food  were  to  turn  out 
to  really  have  in  it  some  of  these  qualities,  what  a 
mess  a  few  days  of  it  would  make  of  the  Stock  Ex- 
change !     It  would  mean  chaos,  sir !  " 

"  It  is  our  hope,"  the  professor  declared,  sternly, 
**  our  profound  hope,  that  this  enterprise  of  ours 
will  not  only  bring  great  fortunes  to  ourselves  but 
will  result  in  the  moral  elevation  of  the  whole  world. 
There  are  medicines  —  patent  medicines,  too  — 
which  have  cured  thousands  of  bodily  diseases.  Why 
should  we  consider  ourselves  too  sanguine  when  we 
hope  that  ours,  the  first  real  attempt  to  minister  to 
the  physical  side  of  morals,  may  be  equally  success- 
ful.?" 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTOM  267 

Burton  stole  away.  In  the  garden  he  found 
Edith.  They  sat  together  upon  a  seat  and  she  al- 
lowed her  hand  to  remain  in  his. 

"  I  never  knew  father  so  wrapped  up  in  anything 
as  he  is  in  this  new  scheme,"  she  whispered.  "  He 
is  even  worse  than  Mr.  Bomford." 

Burton  shivered  a  little  as  he  leaned  back  and 
closed  his  eyes. 

"  It  is  a  nightmare !  "  he  groaned.  "  Have  you 
seen  all  those  advertisements  of  brain  foods?  The 
advertisement  columns  of  our  magazines  and  news- 
papers are  full  of  them.  Their  announcements  grin 
down  upon  us  from  every  hoarding.  Do  you  know 
that  we  are  going  to  do  the  same  thing?  We  are 
going  to  contribute  our  share  to  the  defilement  of 
journalism.  We  are  going  to  make  a  similar  appeal 
to  the  quack  instincts  of  the  credulous." 

She  laughed  softly  at  him. 

*'  You  foolish  person,'*  she  murmured.  "  Father 
has  been  talking  to  me  about  it  for  hours  at  a  time. 
You  are  taking  it  for  granted  that  they  will  not  be 
able  to  transmit  the  qualities  of  the  bean  into  this 
new  food,  but  father  Is  sure  that  they  will.  Sup- 
posing they  succeed,  why  should  you  object?  Why 
should  not  the  whole  world  share  in  this  thing  which 
has  come  to  you?  " 

'*  I  do  not  know,"  he  answered,  a  little  wearily, 
**  and  yet  nothing  seems  to  be  able  to  alter  the  way 


268         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 

I  feel  about  it.  It  seems  as  though  we  were  com- 
mitting sacrilege.  Your  father  and  Mr.  Bomford, 
and  now  this  man  Bunsome,  are  entirely  engrossed 
in  the  commercial  side  of  it.  If  it  were  to  be  a  gift 
to  the  world,  a  real  philanthropic  enterprise,  it  would 
be  different." 

"  The  world  wasn't  made  for  philanthropists, 
dear,"  she  reminded  him.  "  We  are  only  poor  human 
beings,  and  in  our  days  we  have  to  eat  and  drink 
and  love." 

"  If  only  Mr.  Bomford  —  "  he  began — 

She  laid  her  fingers  warningly  upon  his  arm.  Mr. 
Bomford  was  coming  across  the  lawn  towards  them. 

"  If  you  go  off  alone  with  him,"  Burton  whispered, 
*'  I'll  get  back  the  beans  and  swamp  the  enterprise. 
I  swear  it." 

"  If  you  leave  us  alone  together,"  she  answered 
softly,  "  I'll  never  speak  to  you  again." 

She  sprang  lightly  to  her  feet. 

"  Come,"  she  declared,  "  it  is  chilly  out  here  to- 
night. We  are  all  going  back  into  the  drawing- 
room.     I  am  going  to  make  you  listen  while  I  sing." 

Mr.  Bomford  looked  dissatisfied.  He  was  flushed 
with  wine  and  he  spoke  a  little  thickly. 

"  If  I  could  have  five  minutes  —  "  he  began. 

Edith  shook  her  head. 

"  I  am  much  too  cold,"  she  objected.     "  Besides, 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  269 

I  want  to  hear  Mr.  Bunsome  talk  about  the  new  dis- 
covery.    Have  you  found  a  title  for  the  food  yet?  '* 

She  walked  rapidly  on  with  Burton.  Mr.  Bomford 
followed  them. 

"  We  have  decided,"  he  said,  "  to  call  it  Mena- 
togen." 


270         THE    DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 


CHAPTER    XXV 


DISCONTENT 


Burton  gave  a  little  start  of  surprise  as  he  en- 
tered Mr.  Waddington's  office.  Seated  on  the  chair 
usually  occupied  by  clients,  was  Ellen. 

"  My  dear  Burton,"  Mr.  Waddington  exclaimed, 
with  an  air  of  some  relief,  "  your  arrival  is  most 
opportune!  Your  wife  has  just  paid  me  a  visit. 
We  were  discussing  your  probable  whereabouts  only 
a  moment  ago." 

"  Rooms  all  shut  up,"  Ellen  declared,  "  and  not 
a  word  left  behind  nor  nothing,  and  little  Alfred 
come  down  with  a  messenger  boy,  in  such  a  mess  as 
never  was !  " 

"  I  hope  he  arrived  safely.'' "  Burton  inquired. 
*'  I  found  it  necessary  to  send  him  home." 

"  He  arrived  all  right,"  Ellen  announced. 

"You  found  a  change  in  him?  "  Burton  asked. 

"  If  you  mean  about  his  finicking  ways,  I  do  find 
a  change,"  Ellen  replied,  "  and  a  good  job,  too. 
He's  playing  with  the  other  boys  again  and  using 
those  silly  books  to  shoot  at  with  a  catapult,  which 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  271 

to  my  mind  is  a  sight  more  reasonable  than  poring 
over  them  all  the  time.  I  never  did  see  a  man,"  she 
continued,  with  a  slow  smile,  "  so  taken  aback  as 
Mr.  Denschem,  when  he  came  to  take  him  to  the 
museum  yesterday.  Little  Alf  wouldn't  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  him  at  any  price." 

Burton  sighed. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  said  politely,  "  that  you  may 
have  been  inconvenienced  by  not  hearing  from  me 
on  Saturday." 

" '  Inconvenienced '  is  a  good  word,"  Ellen  re- 
marked. "  I've  managed  to  pay  my  way  till  now, 
thank  you.  What  I  came  up  to  know  about  is 
this ! "  she  went  on,  producing  a  copy  of  the  Daily 
Press  from  her  reticule  and  smoothing  it  out  on  her 
knee. 

Burton  groaned.  He  looked  anxiously  at  Mr. 
Waddington. 

"  Have  you  read  it,  sir.''  "  he  asked. 

Mr.  Waddington  shook  his  head. 

**  I  make  it  a  rule,"  he  said,  "  to  avoid  the  adver- 
tisement columns  of  all  newspapers.  These  skilfully 
worded  announcements  only  serve  to  remind  us  how 
a  man  may  prostitute  an  aptitude,  if  not  an  art,  for 
sheer  purposes  of  gain.  It  Is  my  theory,  Mrs.  Bur- 
ton," he  went  on,  addressing  her,  "  that  no  one  has 
a  right  to  use  his  peculiar  capacities  for  the  pro- 
duction of  any  sort  of  work  which  is  In  the  least 


272  THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

unworthy ;  which  does  not  aim  —  you  follow  me,  I 
am  sure  ?  —  at  the  ideal." 

Ellen  stared  at  him  for  a  moment. 

"  I  don't  follow  you,"  she  declared,  brusquely, 
**  and  I  don't  know  as  I  want  to.  About  that  ad- 
vertisement, is  it  you,  Alfred,  who's  to  be  one  of  the 
directors  of  this  Menatogen  or  whatever  they  call 
it.''    Are  they  your  experiences  that  are  given  here.''  " 

"  They  are !  "  Burton  groaned. 

Mr.  Waddington,  with  a  heavy  frown,  took  the 
paper. 

"  What  is  this.  Burton  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  You  had  better  read  it,"  Burton  replied,  sinking 
into  a  chair.  "  I  mentioned  it  to  you  a  little  time 
ago.  You  see,  the  scheme  has  finally  come  to  frui- 
tion." 

Mr.  Waddington  read  the  advertisement  through, 
word  by  word.  One  gathered  that  the  greatest  dis- 
covery for  many  thousands  of  years  would  shortly 
be  announced  to  the  world.  A  certified  and  unfailing 
tonic  for  the  moral  system  was  shortly  to  be  placed 
upon  the  market.  A  large  factory  had  been  engaged 
for  the  manufacture  of  the  new  commodity,  and 
distributing  warehouses  in  a  central  neighborhood. 
First  come,  first  served.  Ten  and  sixpence  a  jar. 
The  paper  fluttered  out  of  Mr.  Waddington's  fin- 
gers. He  looked  across  at  Burton.  Burton  sank 
forward  in  his  chair,  his  head  fell  into  his  hands. 


"  I  am  getting  money,"  he  adniittcd  slowly.     "  1  am  getting 
a  great  deal  of  money."     Page  273. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  273 

"  What  I  want  to  know,"  Ellen  continued,  in  a 
tone  of  some  excitement,  "  is  —  what  is  there  coming 
to  us  for  this?  I  never  did  give  you  credit,  Alfred 
—  not  in  these  days,  at  any  rate  —  for  so  much 
common  sense.  I  see  they  have  made  you  a  director. 
If  there's  anything  in  those  rotten  beans  of  yours, 
you've  more  in  your  head  than  I  thought,  to  be  try- 
ing to  make  a  bit  of  use  of  them.  What  are  you 
getting  out  of  it.'^  " 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Mr.  Waddington  had 
the  appearance  of  a  man  who  has  received  a  shock. 
Burton  withdrew  his  hands  from  before  his  face. 
He  was  looking  pale  and  miserable. 

"  I  am  getting  money,"  he  admitted  slowly.  "  I 
am  getting  a  great  deal  of  money." 

Ellen  nodded.  Her  face  betokened  the  liveliest 
interest.  Mr.  Waddington  sat  like  a  musician  lis- 
tening to  an  ill-played  rendering  of  his  favorite 
melody.     Burton  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket. 

*'  I  failed  to  send  you  your  three  pounds  on  Sat- 
urday, Ellen,"  he  said.  "  Here  are  thirty  —  three 
hundred,  if  you  will.  Take  them  and  leave  me  for 
a  little  time." 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  Ellen  grabbed  at 
the  notes.  She  counted  them  carefully  and  thrust 
them  into  her  reticule.  Her  manner  was  indicating 
a  change.  The  hard  contempt  had  gone  from  her 
face.    She  looked  at  her  husband  with  something:  like 


274  THE    DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

awe.  After  all,  this  was  the  signal  and  final  proof 
of  greatness  —  he  had  made  money ! 

"  Aren't  you  pleased  about  it  ?  "  she  asked  sharply. 
**  Not  that  I  ever  thought  you'd  have  the  wits  to 
turn  anything  like  this  into  real,  solid  account !  " 

Burton  set  his  teeth. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  "  that  I  cannot  quite  ex- 
plain how  I  feel  about  it.  There  will  be  plenty  of 
money  for  you  —  for  some  time,  at  any  rate.  You 
can  buy  the  house,  if  you  like,  or  buy  one  somewhere 
else." 

"  What  about  you  ?  "  she  demanded.  "  Ain't  you 
coming  back,''  " 

He  did  not  move.  She  rose  to  her  feet,  raised 
her  veil  and  came  over  to  where  he  was  sitting.  He 
smelt  the  familiar  odor  of  "  Lily  of  the  Valley  "  per- 
fume, blended  with  the  odor  of  cleaned  gloves  and 
benzine.  The  air  around  him  was  full  of  little  violet 
specks  from  her  boa.  She  laid  her  hand  upon  his 
shoulder. 

"  Come  and  be  a  man  again,  Alfred,"  she  begged, 
a  little  awkwardly.  "  You've  got  good  common 
sense  at  the  bottom  still,  I  am  sure.  Why  don't  you 
give  up  this  tomfoolery  and  come  home  to  me  and 
the  boy  ?  Or  shall  I  stay  up,"  she  went  on,  "  and 
have  a  little  evening  in  town?  You've  got  the 
money.  Why  not  let's  go  to  a  restaurant  and  a 
music-hall  afterwards?    We  might  ask  the  Johnsons. 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  275 

Little  Alf  would  be  all  right,  and  I  put  on  my  best 
hat,  in  case." 

Burton  looked  wearily  up. 

"  Ellen,"  he  said,  "  I  am  afraid  I  can't  make  you 
understand.  It  is  true  that  I  shall  probably  be  rich, 
but  I  hate  the  thought  of  it.  I  only  want  to  be  left 
alone.  I  have  made  a  mistake,  and  yet.  Heaven 
knows,  it  was  hard  for  me  to  escape !  Before  very 
long,"  he  added,  his  voice  sinking  a  little  lower,  "  it 
is  quite  likely  that  you  will  recognize  me  again  com- 
pletely. I  dare  say  then  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  go 
to  the  theatre  with  you  and  to  meet  the  Johnsons. 
Just  now  I  —  I  can't." 

Ellen  began  to  tremble. 

"  Before  long  you'll  be  very  glad,  eh.''  "  she  ex- 
claimed. "  Well,  we'll  see  about  that !  I'm  sick  of 
this  begging  and  praying  of  you  to  behave  like  a 
reasonable  person.  If  there's  another  woman  who's 
come  along,  why,  out  with  it  and  let  me  know  ?  " 

"  You  don't  understand,"  Mr.  Waddington  inter- 
rupted, gently.  "  Your  husband  and  I  have  both 
come  under  the  influence  of  these  —  these  beans.  It 
is  not  possible  for  us  to  live  as  we  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  live." 

"Well,  I  like  that!"  Ellen  declared.  "Do  you 
mean  to  say  this  is  going  on.''  " 

Burton  looked  up. 

**  On  the  contrary,"  he  announced,  "  it  is  coming 


276         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

to  an  end  —  with  me,  at  any  rate.  Until  it  does 
come  to  an  end,  it  will  be  kinder  of  you,  and  better 
for  both  of  us,  for  you  to  keep  away." 

She  stood  for  a  moment  quite  still.  Her  back  was 
turned  to  them,  her  shoulders  were  moving.  When 
she  spoke,  however,  her  tone  was  still  hard  and  un- 
sympathetic. 

"  Very  well,"  she  said,  "  I'll  get  back  to  Garden 
Green.  But  mind  you,  my  man,"  she  went  on,  "  none 
of  your  sneaking  back  home  just  when  you're  ready 
for  it!  Next  time  it  shall  be  as  I  choose.  I'm  no 
wishy-washy  creature,  to  be  your  wife  one  moment 
and  something  you  can't  bear  even  to  look  at,  the 
next.  No,  I  don't  want  none  of  your  monkey  tricks, 
opening  the  door !  "  she  went  on  angrily,  as  Burton 
rose  to  see  her  out.  "  Stay  where  you  are.  I  can 
find  my  way  out  of  the  place." 

She  departed,  slamming  the  door  after  her.  Mr. 
Waddington  came  and  sat  down  by  his  former 
clerk's  side. 

"  Tell  me.  Burton,"  he  asked  kindly,  "  how  did  you 
come  to  do  this  thing?  " 

"  It  was  the  professor  and  the  girl,"  he  murmured. 
"  They  made  it  seem  so  reasonable." 

"  It  is  always  the  girl,"  Mr.  Waddington  re- 
flected. "  The  girl  with  the  blue  eyes,  I  suppose, 
whom  you  told  me  about?    The  girl  of  the  garden?  " 

Burton  nodded. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  277 

**  Her  father  is  a  scientific  man,"  he  explained. 
*'  He  wants  money  badly  to  go  on  with  some  excava- 
tions in  Assyria.  Between  -them  all,  I  consented. 
Waddington,"  he  went  on,  looking  up,  "  I  was  be- 
ginning to  get  terrified.  I  had  only  two  beans  left. 
I  have  parted  with  them.  They  could  have  lasted  me 
only  a  few  months.  I  thought  if  I  had  to  go  back, 
I  would  go  back  free  from  any  anxieties  of  work 
in  an  office.  Wealth  must  help  one  somehow.  If  I 
can  travel,  surround  myself  with  books,  live  in  the 
country,  I  can't  ever  be  so  bad,  I  can't  fall  back 
where  I  was  before.  What  do  you  think,  Mr.  Wad- 
dington.'' You  must  have  this  on  your  mind  some- 
times. You  yourself  have  only  six  or  seven  month* 
left." 

Mr.  Waddington  sighed. 

*'  Do  you  think  that  it  isn't  a  nightmare  for  me, 
too  ?  "  he  said  gently.  "  Only  I  am  afraid  that 
wealth  will  not  help  you.  The  most  vulgar  and 
ignorant  people  I  know  are  among  the  wealthiest. 
There  is  a  more  genuine  simplicity  and  naturalness 
among  the  contented  and  competent  poor  than  any 
other  class.  You  were  wrong,  Burton.  Riches  breed 
idleness,  riches  tempt  one  to  the  purchase  of  false 
pleasure.  You  would  have  been  better  back  upon 
your  stool  in  my  office." 

"  It  is  too  late,"  Burton  declared,  a  little  dog- 
gedly.    **  I  came  to  ask  you  if  you  wanted  to  join? 


278         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

For  two  more  beans  they  would  make  you,  too,  a 
director,  and  give  you  five  thousand  shares." 

Mr.  Waddington  shook  his  head. 

"  Thank  you.  Burton,"  he  said,  "  I  would  sooner 
retain  my  beans.  I  have  no  interest  In  your  enter- 
prise. I  think  it  hateful  and  abominable.  I  cannot 
conceive,"  he  went  on,  "  how  you,  Burton,  in  your 
sane  mind,  could  have  stooped  so  low  as  to  associate 
yourself  in  any  way  with  the  thing." 

"  You  don't  know  what  my  temptations  were !  " 
Burton  groaned. 

"  And  therefore,"  Mr.  Waddington  replied,  "  I 
will  not  judge  you.  Yet  do  not  think  that  I  should 
ever  allow  myself  to  consider  your  proposition,  even 
for  a  moment.  Tell  me,  you  say  you've  parted  with 
your  last  bean  —  " 

*'  And  my  time  is  almost  up !  "  Burton  interrupted, 
beating  the  table  before  him.  **  Only  this  morning, 
for  an  instant,  I  was  afraid !  " 

"  Try  and  keep  your  thoughts  away  from  it," 
Mr.  Waddington  advised.  "  Let  me  show  you  these 
new  prints.  By  the  bye,  where  Is  your  wonderful 
little  boy.?  " 

"  Gone  —  back  to  his  mother !  "  Burton  answered 
grimly.  *'  Didn't  you  hear  us  mention  him  ?  I  left 
him  in  my  rooms  one  night  and  when  I  came  back 
the  whole  place  was  In  disorder.  He  was  in  a  filthy 
state  and  sobbing  for  his  home.'* 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  279 

"  My  poor  fellow ! "  Mr.  Waddington  murmured. 
"  Come,  I  will  take  you  with  me  to  lunch.  We  can 
spend  the  afternoon  in  my  library.  I  have  some  new 
treasures  to  show  you.  We  will  lose  ourselves.  For 
a  short  time,  at  least,  you  shall  forget." 


28o         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

THE    END    OP    A    WONDEEFUL    WOEIil> 

Mr.  Waddington  turned  his  head  away  quickly 
and  glanced  half  guiltily  towards  his  companion. 
To  his  amazement,  Burton  had  been  gazing  in  the 
same  direction.     Their  eyes  met.     Burton  coughed. 

"  A  remarkably  fine  woman,  that,"  Mr.  Wadding- 
ton declared. 

Burton  looked  at  him  in  astonishment. 

*'  My  dear  Mr.  Waddington ! "  he  exclaimed. 
**  You  cannot  really  think  so !  " 

They  both  turned  their  heads  once  more.  The 
woman  in  question  was  standing  upon  the  doorstep 
of  a  milliner's  shop,  waiting  for  a  taxicab.  In  ap- 
pearance she  was  certainly  somewhat  striking,  but 
her  hair  was  flagrantly  dyed,  her  eyebrows  darkened, 
her  costume  daring,  her  type  obvious. 

"  A  very  fine  woman  indeed,  I  call  her,"  Mr.  Wad- 
dington repeated.  *'  Shouldn't  mind  taking  her  to 
lunch.    Good  mind  to  ask  her." 

Burton  hesitated  for  a  moment.  Then  a  curious 
change  came  into  his  own  face. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  281 

**  She  is  rather  fetching,"  he  admitted. 

The  woman  suddenly  smiled.  Mr.  Waddington 
pulled  himself  together. 

**  It  serves  us  right,"  he  said,  a  little  severely,  and 
hastening  his  companion  on.  "  I  was  looking  at  her 
only  as  a  curiosity." 

Burton  glanced  behind  and  move  on  reluctantly. 

"  I  call  her  jolly  good-looking,"  he  declared. 

Mr.  Waddington  pretended  not  to  hear.  They 
turned  into  Jermyn  Street. 

"  There  are  some  vases  here,  at  this  small  shop 
round  the  corner,  which  I  want  you  particularly  to 
notice,  Burton,"  he  continued.  "  They  are  perfect 
models  of  old  Etruscan  ware.  Did  you  ever  see  a 
more  beautiful  curve.''  Isn't  it  a  dream.''  One  could 
look  at  a  curve  like  that  and  it  has  something  the 
same  effect  upon  one  as  a  line  of  poetry  or  a  single 
exquisite  thought." 

Burton  glanced  into  the  window  and  looked  back 
again  over  his  shoulder.  The  lady,  however,  had 
disappeared. 

"  Hm !  "  he  remarked.  "  Very  nice  vase.  Let's 
get  on  to  lunch.     I'm  hungry." 

Mr.  Waddington  stopped  short  upon  the  pave- 
ment and  gripped  his  companion's  arm. 

*'  Burton,"  he  said,  a  trifle  hesitatingly,  "  you 
don't  think  —  you  don't  imagine  —  " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it !  "  Burton  interrupted,  savagely. 


282         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 
"  One  must  be  a  little  human  now  and  then.     By 
Jove,  old  man,  there  are  some  ties,  if  you  like!     I 
always  did  think  a  yellow  one  would  suit  me." 

Mr.  Waddington  pressed  him  gently  along. 

*'  I  am  not  sure,"  he  muttered,  "  that  we  are  quite 
in  the  mood  to  buy  ties.  I  want  to  ask  you  a  ques- 
tion. Burton." 

"  Go  ahead." 

"  You  were  telling  me  about  this  wonderful  scheme 
of  your  friend  the  professor's,  to  make  —  Mena- 
togen,  I  think  you  said.  Did  you  part  with  both 
your  beans?  " 

"  Both,"  Burton  replied,  almost  fiercely.  *'  But 
I've  another  fortnight  or  so  yet.  It  can't  come 
before  —  it  shan't !  " 

"  You  expect,  I  suppose,  to  make  a  great  deal  of 
money  ?  "  Mr.  Waddington  continued. 

"  We  shall  make  piles,"  Burton  declared.  *'  I 
have  had  a  large  sum  already  for  the  beans.  My 
pockets  are  full  of  money.  Queer  how  light-hearted 
it  makes  you  feel  to  have  plenty  of  money.  It's  a 
dull  world,  you  know,  after  all,  and  we  are  dull  fel- 
lows. Think  what  one  could  do,  now,  with  some  of 
the  notes  I  have  in  my  pocket!  Hire  a  motor-car, 
go  to  some  bright  place  like  the  Metropole  at  Brigh- 
ton —  a  bright,  cheerful,  sociable  place,  I  mean, 
where  people  who  look  interesting  aren't  above  talk- 
ing to  you.     And  then  a  little  dinner,  and  perhaps 


MR.   ALFRED   BURTON  283 

a  music-hall  afterwards,  and  some  supper,  and  plenty 
to  eat  and  drink  —  " 

"  Burton !  "  Mr.  Waddington  gasped.  "  Stop ! 
Stop  at  once !  " 

"  Why  the  dickens  should  I  stop  ?  "  Burton  de- 
manded. 

Mr.  Waddington  was  looking  shocked  and  pained. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me,"  he  exclaimed,  "  that 
this  is  your  idea  of  a/  good  time  ?  That  you  would 
go  to  a  hotel  like  the  Metropole  and  mix  with  the 
people  whom  you  might  meet  there,  and  eat  and 
drink  too  much,  and  call  it  enjoyment.''  Burton, 
what  has  come  to  you  ?  '* 

Burton  was  looking  a  little  sullen. 

"  It's  all  very  well,"  he  grumbled.  "  We're  too 
jolly  careful  of  ourselves.  We  don't  get  much  fun. 
Here's  your  poky  little  restaurant.  Let's  see  what 
it  looks  like  inside." 

They  entered,  and  a  maitre  d'hotel  came  hurrying 
to  meet  them.     Burton,  however,  shook  his  head. 

'*  This  place  is  no  good,  Waddington,"  he  decided. 
*'  Only  about  half-a-dozen  stodgy  old  people  here, 
no  music,  and  nothing  to  look  at.  Let's  go  where 
there's  some  life.  I'll  take  you.  My  lunch.  Come 
along." 

Mr.  Waddington  protested  but  faintly.  He  mur- 
mured a  word  of  apology  to  the  maitre  d'hote!,  whom 
he  knew,  but  Burton  had  already  gone  on  ahead  and 


284         THE   DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

was  whistling  for  a  taxi.     With  a  groan,  Mr.  Wad- 

dington  noticed  that  his  hat  had  slipped  a  little  on 

one  side.     There  was  a  distinct  return  of  his  rakish 

manner. 

"  The  Milan!  "  Burton  ordered.  "  Get  along  as 
quick  as  you  can.    We  are  hungry." 

The  two  men  sat  side  by  side  in  the  taxicab.  Mr. 
Waddington  watched  his  companion  in  half-pained 
eagerness.  Burton  certainly  was  looking  much  more 
alert  than  earlier  in  the  morning. 

"  I  tell  you  money's  a  great  thing,"  the  latter 
went  on,  producing  a  cigarette  from  his  pocket  and 
lighting  it.  "  I  don't  know  why  I  should  have  wor- 
ried about  this  little  business  adventure.  I  call  it 
a  first-class  idea.  I'd  like  to  be  able  to  take  taxies 
whenever  I  wanted  them,  and  go  round  to  the  big 
restaurants  and  sit  and  watch  the  people.  Come  to 
a  music-hall  one  night,  Mr.  Waddington,  won't 
you.?  I  haven't  seen  anything  really  funny  for  a 
long  time." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  should  like  to,"  Mr.  Waddington 
began, —  "  I  mean  I  should  be  delighted." 

"  What  are  you  afraid  about  ? "  Burton  asked 
quickly. 

Mr.  Waddington  mopped  his  forehead  with  his 
handkerchief. 

"  Burton,"  he  said  hoarsely,  **  I  think  it's  coming 
on !    I'm  glad  we  are  going  to  the  Milan.    I  wish  we 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  285 

could  go  to  a  music-hall  to-night.  That  woman  was 
attractive ! " 

Burton  set  his  teeth. 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  he  muttered.  "  I  can't  help 
anything.    Here  goes  for  a  good  time !  " 

He  dismissed  the  taxi  and  entered  the  Milan, 
swaggering  just  a  little.  They  lunched  together 
and  neither  showed  their  usual  discrimination  in  the 
selection  of  the  meal.  In  place  of  the  light  wine 
which  Mr.  Waddington  generally  chose,  they  had 
champagne.  They  drank  Benedictine  with  their 
coffee  and  smoked  cigars  instead  of  cigarettes.  Their 
conversation  was  a  trifle  jerky  and  Mr.  Waddington 
kept  on  returning  to  the  subject  of  the  Menatogen. 
Company. 

"  You  know,  I've  three  beans  left,  Burton,"  he 
explained,  towards  the  end  of  the  meal.  "  I  don't 
know  why  I  should  keep  them.  They'd  only  last  a 
matter  of  seven  months,  anyway.  I've  got  to  go  back 
sometime.  Do  you  think  I  could  get  in  with  you 
in  the  company  ?  " 

"  We'll  go  and  —  Why,  there  is  Mr.  Bunsome !  " 
Burton  exclaimed.    "  Mr.  Bunsome !  " 

The  company  promoter  was  just  passing  their 
table.  He  turned  around  at  the  sound  of  his  name. 
For  a  moment  he  failed  to  recognize  Burton.  There 
was  very  little  likeness  between  the  pale,  contemp- 
tuous yoimg  man  with  the  dreamy  eyes,  who  had  sat 


286  THE  DOUBLE  LIFE  OF 
opposite  to  him  at  the  professor's  dinner  table  a 
few  nights  ago,  and  this  flushed  young  man  who  had 
just  attracted  his  attention,  and  who  had  evidently 
been  lunching  exceedingly  well.  It  was  part  of  his 
business,  however,  to  remember  faces,  and  his  natural 
aptitude  came  to  his  assistance. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Burton.?  "  he  said.  **  Glad 
to  meet  you  again.  Spending  some  of  the  Mena- 
togen  profits,  eh.''  " 

"  Friend  of  mine  here  —  Mr.  Waddington,"  Bur- 
ton explained.  "  Mr.  Cowper  knows  all  about  him. 
He  owns  the  rest  of  the  beans,  you  know." 

Mr.  Bunsome  was  at  once  interested. 

"  I'm  delighted  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Waddington ! " 
he  declared,  holding  out  his  hand.  "  Indirectly,  you 
are  connected  with  one  of  the  most  marvelous  discov- 
eries of  modem  days." 

"  I  should  like  to  make  it  *  directly,'  "  Mr.  Wad- 
dington said.  "  Do  you  think  my  three  beans  would 
get  me  in  on  the  ground  floor?  " 

Mr.  Bunsome  was  a  little  surprised. 

**  I  understood  from  the  professor,"  he  remarked, 
"  that  your  friend  was  not  likely  to  care  about  enter- 
ing into  this?  " 

Burton,  for  a  moment,  half  closed  his  eyes. 

"  I  remember,"  he  said.  "  Last  night  I  didn't 
think  he  would  care  about  it.    I  find  I  was  mistaken." 

Mr.  Bunsome  looked  at  his  watch. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  287 

**  I  am  meeting  Mr.  Cowper  this  afternoon,"  he 
said,  "  and  Mr.  Bomford.  I  know  that  the  greatest 
difficulty  that  we  have  to  face  at  present  is  the  very 
minute  specimens  of  this  wonderful  —  er  —  vege- 
table, from  which  we  have  to  prepare  the  food.  I 
should  think  it  very  likely  that  we  might  be  able  to 
offer  you  an  interest  in  return  for  your  beans.  Will 
you  call  at  my  office,  Mr.  Waddington,  at  ten  o'clock 
to-morrow  morning  —  number  17,  Norfolk  Street.''" 

"  With  pleasure,"  Mr.  Waddington  assented. 
"Have  a  drink?" 

Mr.  Bunsome  did  not  hesitate  —  it  was  not  his 
custom  to  refuse  any  offer  of  the  sort !  He  sat  down 
at  their  table  and  ordered  a  sherry  and  bitters.  Mr. 
Waddington  seemed  to  have  expanded.  He  did  not 
mention  the  subject  of  architecture.  More  than 
once  Mr.  Bunsome  glanced  with  some  surprise  at 
Burton.  The  young  man  completely  puzzled  him. 
They  talked  about  Menatogen  and  its  possibilities, 
and  Burton  kept  harking  back  to  the  subject  of 
profits.  Mr.  Bunsome  at  last  could  contain  his  curi- 
osity no  longer. 

*'  Say,"  he  remarked,  "  you  had  a  headache  or 
something  the  other  night,  I  think?  Seemed  as 
quiet  as  they  make  'em  down  at  the  old  professor's. 
I  tell  you  I  shouldn't  have  known  you  again." 

Burton  was  suddenly  white.  Mr.  Waddington 
plunged  in. 


288         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 

"  Dry  old  stick,  the  professor,  anyway,  from  what 
I've  heard,"  he  said.  "  Now  don't  you  forget,  Mr. 
Bunsome.  I  shall  be  round  at  your  office  at  ten 
o'clock  sharp  to-morrow,  and  I  expect  to  be  let  into 
the  company.  Three  beans  I've  got,  and  remember 
they're  worth  something.  They  took  that  old  Egyp- 
tian Johnny  —  him  and  his  family,  of  course  —  a 
matter  of  a  thousand  years  to  grow,  and  there's  no 
one  else  on  to  them.  Why,  they're  unique,  and  they 
do  the  trick,  too  —  that  I  can  speak  for.  Paid  the 
bill.  Burton?" 

Burton  nodded.  The  two  men  shook  hands  with 
Mr.  Bunsome  and  prepared  to  leave.  They  walked 
out  into  the  Strand. 

"  Got  anything  to  do  this  afternoon  particular?  " 
Mr.  Waddington  asked,  after  a  moment's  hesitation. 

*'  Not  a  thing,"  Burton  replied,  puffing  at  his 
cigar  and  unconsciously  altering  slightly  the  angle 
of  his  hat. 

"  Wouldn't  care  about  a  game  of  billiards  at  the 
Golden  LioUy  I  suppose? "  Mr.  Waddington  sug- 
gested. 

"  Rather !  "  Burton  assented.  "  Let's  buy  the 
girls  some  flowers  and  take  a  taxi  down.  Go  down 
in  style,  eh?     I'll  pay." 

Mr.  Waddington  looked  at  his  companion  — 
watched  him.  Indeed,  hall  the  taxi  —  and  groaned. 
A  sudden  wave  of  half-ashamed  regret  swept  through 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  289 

him.  It  was  gone,  then,  this  brief  peep  into  a  won- 
derful world!  His  own  fall  was  imminent.  The 
click  of  the  balls  was  in  his  ears,  the  taste  of  strong 
drink  was  inviting  him.  The  hard  laugh  and  playful 
familiarities  of  the  buxom  young  lady  were  calling 
to  him.  He  sighed  and  took  his  place  by  his  com- 
panion's side. 


290         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

ME.    WADDINGTON    ALSO 

With  his  hat  at  a  very  distinct  angle  indeed,  with 
a  fourpenny  cigar,  ornamented  by  a  gold  band,  in 
his  mouth,  Burton  sat  before  a  hard-toned  piano  and 
vamped. 

"  Pretty  music.  The  Chocolate  Soldier"  he  re- 
marked, with  an  air  of  complete  satisfaction  in  his 
performance. 

Miss  Maud,  who  was  standing  by  his  side  with 
her  hand  laid  lightly  upon  his  shoulder,  assented 
vigorously. 

**  And  you  do  play  it  so  nicely,  Mr.  Burton,"  she 
said.  "  It  makes  me  long  to  see  it  again.  I  haven't 
been  to  the  theatre  for  heaven  knows  how  long ! " 

Burton  turned  round  in  his  stool. 

"  What  are  you  doing  to-night?  "  he  asked. 

'*  Nothing,"  the  young  lady  replied,  eagerly. 
**  Take  me  to  the  theatre,  there's  a  dear." 

"  Righto  !  "  he  declared.  "  I  expect  I  can  man- 
age it." 

Miss  Maud  waltzed  playfully  around  the  room,  her 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  291 

hands  above  her  head.     She  put  her  head  out  of  the 
door  and  called  into  the  bar. 

**  Milly,  Mr.  Burton's  taking  me  to  the  theatre 
to-night.  Why  don't  you  get  Mr.  Waddington  to 
come  along  .f*  We  can  both  get  a  night  off  if  you 
make  up  to  the  governor  for  a  bit." 

**  I'll  try,"  was  the  eager  reply,  — "  that  is,  if 
Mr.  Waddington's  agreeable." 

Maud  came  back  to  her  place  by  the  piano.  She 
was  a  plump  young  lady  with  a  pink  and  white  com- 
plexion, which  suffered  slightly  from  lack  of  exer- 
cise and  fresh  air  and  over-use  of  powder.  Her 
hair  was  yellower  than  her  friend's,  but  it  also  owed 
some  part  of  its  beauty  to  artificial  means.  In  busi- 
ness hours  she  was  attired  in  an  exceedingly  tight- 
fitting  black  dress,  disfigured  in  many  places  by  the 
accidents  of  her  profession. 

**  You  are  a  dear,  Mr.  Burton,"  she  declared.  "  I 
wonder  what  your  wife  would  say,  though?  "  she 
added,  a  little  coyly. 

**  Not  seeing  much  of  Ellen  just  lately,"  Burton 
replied.     "  I'm  living  up  in  town  alone." 

*'  Oh!  "  she  remarked.  *'  Mr.  Burton,  I'm  ashamed 
of  you!  What  does  that  mean,  I  wonder?  You 
men !  "  she  went  on,  with  a  sigh.  **  One  has  to  be 
so  careful.  You  are  such  deceivers,  you  know! 
What's  the  attraction?  " 

**  You !  "  he  whispered. 


292  THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 

"  What  a  caution  you  are !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I 
like  that,  too,  after  not  coming  near  me  for  months ! 
What  are  you  looking  so  scared  about,  all  of  a 
sudden  ?  " 

Burton  was  looking  through  the  garishly  papered 
walls  of  the  public-house  sitting-room,  out  into  the 
world.    He  was  certainly  a  Httle  paler. 

"  Haven't  I  been  in  for  months.''  "  he  asked  softly. 

She  stared  at  him. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  know ! "  she  retorted. 
**  Pretty  shabby  I  thought  it  of  you,  too,  after  com- 
ing in  and  making  such  a  fuss  as  you  used  to  pretty 
well  every  afternoon.  I  don't  like  friends  that  treat 
you  like  that.  Makes  you  careful  when  they  come 
round  again.  I'd  like  to  know  what  you've  been 
doing?  " 

"  Ah !  "  he  said,  "  you  will  never  know  that.  Per- 
haps I  myself  shall  never  know  that  really  again. 
Get  me  a  whiskey  and  soda,  Maud.    I  want  a  drink." 

"  I  should  say  you  did !  "  the  young  woman  de- 
clared, pertly.  "  Sitting  there,  looking  struck  all 
of  a  heap !  Some  woman,  I  expect,  you've  been  gone 
on.  You  men  are  all  the  same.  I've  no  patience 
with  you  —  not  a  bit.  If  it  wasn't,"  she  added, 
taking  down  the  whiskey  bottle  from  the  shelf,  "  that 
life's  so  precious  dull  without  you,  I  wouldn't  have 
a  thing  to  say  to  you  —  no,  not  me  nor  Milly  either! 
We  were  both  talking  about  you  and  Mr.  Wadding- 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  293 

ton  only  a  few  nights  ago,  and  of  the  two  I'm  not 
sure  that  he's  not  the  worst.  A  man  at  his  age  ought 
to  know  his  mind.  Special  Scotch  —  there  you  are, 
Mr.  Burton.    Hope  it  will  do  you  good." 

Burton  drank  his  whiskey  and  soda  as  though  he 
needed  it.  He  was  suddenly  pale,  and  his  fingers 
were  idle  upon  the  keys  of  the  pianoforte.  The  girl 
looked  at  him  curiously. 

*'  Not  quite  yourself,  are  you  ? "  she  inquired. 
*'  Don't  get  chippy  before  this  evening.  I  don't 
think  I'll  give  you  anything  else  to  drink.  When  a 
gentleman  takes  me  out,  I  like  him  to  be  at  his  best." 

Burton  came  back.  It  was  a  long  journey  from 
the  little  comer  of  the  world  into  which  his  thoughts 
had  strayed,  to  the  ornate,  artificial-looking  parlor, 
with  the  Turkey-carpet  upon  the  floor  and  framed 
advertisements  upon  the  walls. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said.  **  I  had  forgotten.  I 
can't  take  you  out  to-night  —  I've  got  an  engage- 
ment. How  I  shall  keep  it  I  don't  know,"  he  went 
on,  half  reminiscently,  "  but  I've  got  to." 

The  young  woman  looked  at  him  with  rising  color. 

**  Well,  I  declare !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  You're  a 
nice  one,  you  are!  You  come  in  for  the  first  time 
for  Lord  knows  how  long,  you  agree  to  take  me  out 
this  evening,  and  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  back  out 
of  it!  I've  had  enough  of  you,  Mr.  Burton.  You 
can  hook  it  as  soon  as  you  like." 


294         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

Burton  rose  slowly  to  his  feet. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said  simply.  "  I  suppose  I  am 
not  quite  myself  to-day.  I  was  just  thinking  how 
jolly  it  would  be  to  take  you  out  and  have  a  little 
supper  afterwards,  when  I  remembered  —  I  remem- 
bered —  that  engagement.  I've  got  to  go  through 
with  it." 

"Another  girl,  I  suppose?"  she  demanded,  turn- 
ing away  to  look  at  herself  in  the  mirror. 

He  shivered.  He  was  in  a  curious  state  of  mind 
but  there  seemed  to  him  something  heretical  in  pla- 
cing Edith  among  the  same  sex. 

*'  It  is  an  engagement  I  can't  very  well  break," 
he  confessed.    *'  I'll  come  in  again." 

"  You  needn't,"  she  declared,  curtly.  "  When  I 
say  a  thing,  I  mean  it.    I've  done  with  you." 

Burton  crossed  the  threshold  into  the  smaller 
room,  where  Mr.  Waddington  appeared  to  be  de- 
riving a  certain  amount  of  beatific  satisfaction  from 
sitting  in  an  easy-chair  and  having  his  hand  held  by 
Miss  Milly.  They  both  looked  at  him,  as  he  entered, 
in  some  surprise. 

"  What  have  you  two  been  going  on  about?  "  the 
young  lady  asked.  **  I  heard  Maud  speaking  up  at 
you.     Some  lovers'  quarrel,  I  suppose?" 

The  moment  was  passing.  Burton  laughed  —  a 
little  hardly,  perhaps,  but  boisterously. 

"  Maud's  mad  with  me,"  he  explained.   "  I  thought 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  295 

I  could  take  her  out  to-night.  Remembered  after- 
wards I  couldn't.  Say,  old  man,  you're  going  it  a 
bit,  aren't  you?  "  he  continued,  shaking  his  head  at 
his  late  employer. 

Mr.  Waddington  held  his  companion's  hand  more 
tenderly  than  ever. 

"  At  your  age,"  he  remarked,  severely,  *'  you 
shouldn't  notice  such  things.  Milly  and  I  are  old 
friends,  aren't  we .''  "  he  added,  drawing  her  to  him. 

"  Well,  it's  taken  a  bit  of  making  up  my  mind  to 
forgive  you,"  the  young  lady  admitted.  "  What  a 
pity  you  can't  bring  Maud  along  to-night ! "  she 
went  on,  addressing  Burton.  "  We're  going  to 
FrascaWs  to  dinner  and  into  the  Oxford  afterwards. 
Get  along  back  and  make  it  up  with  her.  You  can 
easily  break  your  other  engagement." 

Burton  swaggered  back  to  the  threshold  of  the 
other  room. 

"  Hi !  Come  along,  Maudie !  "  he  said.  "  I  can't 
take  you  out  to-night  but  I'll  take  you  to-morrow 
night,  and  I'll  stand  a  bottle  of  champagne  now  to 
make  up  for  it." 

**  Don't  want  your  champagne,"  the  young  lady 
began ;  —  *'  leastways,"  she  added,  remembering 
that,  after  all,  business  was  supposed  to  be  her  first 
concern,  **  I  won't  say  *  no '  to  a  glass  of  wine  with 
you,  but  you  mustn't  take  it  that  you  can  come  in 
here  and  do  just  as  you  please.    I  may  go  out  with 


296         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 

you  some  other  evening,  and  I  may  not.  I  don't 
think  I  shall.     To-night  just  happens  to  suit  me.'* 

With  a  last  admiring  glance  at  herself  in  the 
mirror,  she  came  into  the  room.  Burton  patted  her 
on  the  arm  and  waved  the  wine  list  away. 

"  The  best  is  good  enough,"  he  declared,  —  **  the 
best  in  the  house.  Just  what  you  like  yourself. 
Price  don't  matter  just  now." 

He  counted  a  roll  of  notes  which  he  drew  from 
his  trousers  pocket.  The  two  girls  looked  at  him 
in  amazement.     He  threw  one  upon  the  table. 

*'  Backed  a  horse  ?  "  Maud  asked. 

"  Legacy  ?  "  Milly  inquired. 

Burton,  with  some  difficulty,  relit  the  stump  of 
his  cigar. 

"  Bit  of  an  advance  I've  just  received  from  a  com- 
pany I'm  connected  with,"  he  explained.  "  Would 
insist  on  my  being  a  director.  I'm  trying  to  get 
Waddington  here  into  it,"  he  added,  condescend- 
ingly. "  Jolly  good  thing  for  him  if  I  succeed,  I 
can  tell  you." 

Miss  Maud  moved  away  in  a  chastened  manner. 
She  took  the  opportunity  to  slip  upstairs  and  pow- 
der her  face  and  put  on  clean  white  cuffs.  Pres- 
ently she  returned,  carrying  the  wine  on  a  silver 
tray,  with  the  best  glasses  that  could  be  procured. 

"  Here's  luck ! "  Burton  exclaimed,  jauntily. 
•*  Can't  drink  much  myself.     This  bubbly  stuff  never 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  297 

did  agree  with  me  and  I  had  a  good  go  at  it  last 
night." 

Maud  filled  up  his  glass,  nevertheless,  touched  It 
with  her  own,  and  drank,  looking  at  him  all  the  time 
with  an  expression  in  her  eyes  upon  which  she  was 
wont  to  rely. 

"  Take  me  out  to-night,  dear,"  she  whispered.  "  I 
feel  just  like  having  a  good  time  to-night.     Do !  " 

Burton  suddenly  threw  his  glass  upon  the  floor.^ 
The  wine  ran  across  the  carpet  in  a  little  stream. 
Sphnters  of  the  glass  lay  about  in  all  directions.. 
They  all  three  looked  at  him,  transfixed. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said. 

He  turned  and  walked  out  of  the  room.  They 
were  all  too  astonished  to  stop  him.  They  heard 
him  cross  the  bar-room  and  they  heard  the  door 
close  as  he  passed  Into  the  street. 

**  Of  all  the  extraordinary  things ! "  Maud  de- 
clared. 

"  Well,  I  never !  "  Milly  gasped. 

*'  If  Mr.  Burton  calls  that  behaving  like  a  gen- 
tleman —  "  Maud  continued,  in  a  heated  manner  — 

Mr.  Waddlngton  patted  her  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Hush,  hush,  my  dear !  "  he  said.  "  Between  our- 
selves. Burton  has  been  going  It  a  bit  lately.  There's 
no  doubt  that  he's  had  a  drop  too  much  to  drink 
this  afternoon.  Don't  take  any  notice  of  him.  He'll 
come  round  all  right.     I  can  understand  what's  the 


298         THE    DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

matter  with  him.  You  mark  my  words,  in  two  or 
three  days  he'll  be  just  his  old  self." 

"  Has  he  come  into  a  fortune,  or  what.''  "  Maud 
demanded.     "  He's  left  you,  hasn't  he?  " 

Mr.  Waddington  nodded. 

"He's  found  a  better  job,"  he  admitted.  "Kind 
of  queer  in  his  health,  though.  I've  been  taken  a 
little  like  it  myself,  but  those  sort  of  things  pass  off 
—  they  pass  off." 

Milly  looked  at  him  curiously.  He  was  suddenly 
quiet. 

"  Why,  you're  looking  just  like  Mr.  Burton  did 
a  few  minutes  ago ! "  she  declared.  "  What's  the 
matter  with  you.''     Can  you  see  ghosts.''  '* 

Mr.  Waddington  sat  quite  still. 

"  Yes,"  he  muttered,  "  I  see  ghosts !  " 

They  looked  at  him  in  a  puzzled  manner.  Then 
Milly  leaned  towards  him  and  filled  his  glass  with 
wine.  She  touched  his  glass  with  her  own,  she  even 
suffered  her  arm  to  rest  upon  his  shoulder.  For  a 
single  moment  Mr.  Waddington  appeared  to  feel 
some  instinct  of  aversion.  He  seemed  almost  about 
to  draw  away.  Then  the  mood  passed.  He  drew  her 
towards  him  with  a  little  burst  of  laughter,  and 
raised  his  glass  to  his  lips. 

"  Here's  fun !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Poor  old  Burton !  " 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  299 


CHAPTER    XXVIII 

THE  KEAL  ALFKED  BUETON 

Edith  slipped  out  of  her  evening  cloak  and  came 
into  the  foyer  of  the  Opera  House,  a  spotless  vision 
of  white.  For  a  moment  she  looked  at  her  cavalier 
in  something  like  amazement.  It  did  not  need  the 
red  handkerchief,  a  corner  of  which  was  creeping  out 
from  behind  his  waistcoat,  to  convince  her  that  some 
extraordinary  change  had  taken  place  in  Burton. 
He  was  looking  pale  and  confused,  and  his  quiet 
naturalness  of  manner  had  altogether  disappeared. 
He  came  towards  her  awkwardly,  swinging  a  pair 
of  white  kid  gloves  in  his  hand. 

"  Bit  late,  aren't  you  ?  "  he  remarked. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  a  few  minutes  late,"  she  ad- 
mitted. "  Until  the  last  moment  father  said  he  was 
coming.    We  shall  have  to  go  in  very  quietly." 

"  Come  along,  then,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  know  the 
way.     I  suppose  one  of  these  fellows  will  tell  us." 

His  inquiry,  loud-voiced  and  not  entirely  coher- 
ent, received  at  first  scant  attention  from  the  usher 
to  whom  he  addressed  himself.  They  were  directed 
to  their  places  at  last,  however.     The  house  was  in 


300         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 

darkness,  and  with  the  music  Edith  forgot,  for  a 
time,  the  slight  shock  which  she  had  received.  The 
opera  was  Samson  et  Dalila,  and  a  very  famous 
tenor  was  making  his  reappearance  after  a  long  ab- 
sence. Edith  gave  herself  up  to  complete  enjoy- 
ment of  the  music.  Then  suddenly  she  was  startled 
by  a  yawn  at  her  side.  Burton  was  sitting  back, 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  mouth  wide-open. 

"  Mr.  Burton !  "  she  exclaimed  softly. 

He  had  the  grace  to  sit  up. 

"  Long-winded  sort  of  stuff,  this,"  he  pronounced, 
in  an  audible  whisper. 

She  felt  a  cold  shiver  of  apprehension.  As  she 
saw  him  lounging  there  beside  her,  her  thoughts 
seemed  to  go  back  to  the  day  when  she  had  looked 
with  scornful  disdain  at  that  miserable  picnic-party 
of  trippers,  who  drank  beer  out  of  stone  jugs,  and 
formed  a  blot  upon  the  landscape.  Once  more  she 
saw  the  man  who  stood  a  little  apart,  in  his  loud 
clothes  and  common  cloth  cap,  saw  him  looking  into 
the  garden.  She  began  to  tremble.  What  had  she 
done  —  so  nearly  done !  In  spite  of  herself,  the 
music  drew  her  away  again.  She  even  found  herself 
turning  towards  him  once  for  sympathy. 

**  Isn't  it  exquisite  ?  '*  she  murmured. 

He  laughed  shortly. 

"  Give  me  The  Chocolate  Soldier"  he  declared. 
**  Worth  a  dozen  of  this !  " 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  301 

Suddenly  she  realized  what  had  happened.  Her 
anger  and  resentment  faded  away.  For  the  first 
time  she  wholly  and  entirely  believed  his  story.  For 
the  first  time  she  felt  that  this  miracle  had  come  to 
pass.  She  was  no  longer  ashamed  of  him.  She  no 
longer  harbored  any  small  feelings  of  resentment 
at  his  ill-bred  attitude.  A  profound  sympathy  swept 
up  from  her  heart  —  sympathy  for  him,  sympathy, 
too,  for  herself.  When  they  passed  out  together 
she  was  as  sweet  to  him  as  possible,  though  he  put 
on  a  black  bowler  hat  some  time  before  it  was  neces- 
sary, and  though  his  red  handkerchief  became  very 
much  in  evidence. 

*'  You  will  drive  me  down  to  Chelsea,  won't  you  ?  '* 
she  begged, 

"  Righto !  "  he  replied.  "  I'll  get  one  of  these 
chaps  to  fetch  a  taxi." 

He  succeeded  in  obtaining  one,  gleeful  because  he 
had  outwitted  some  prior  applicant  to  whom  the  cab 
properly  belonged. 

"  Couldn't  stop  somewhere  and  have  a  little  sup- 
per, could  we  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  am  afraid  not,"  she  answered.  "  It  wouldn't 
be  quite  the  thing." 

He  tried  to  take  her  hand.  After  a  moment's 
hesitation  she  permitted  it. 

"  Mr.  Burton,"  she  said  softly,  "  do  answer  me  one 
question.     Did  you  part  with  all  your  beans?  " 


302  THE   DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

His  hand  went  up  to  his  forehead  for  a  moment. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  both  of  them.  I  only  had 
two,  and  it  didn't  seem  worth  while  keeping  one. 
Got  my  pockets  full  of  money,  too,  and  they  are 
going  to  make  me  a  director  of  Menatogen." 

"  Do  you  feel  any  different?  "  she  asked  him. 

He  looked  at  her  in  a  puzzled  way  and,  striking 
a  match,  lit  a  cigarette  without  her  permission. 

**  Odd  you  should  ask  that,"  he  remarked.  **  I 
do  feel  sort  of  queer  to-night  —  as  though  I'd  been 
ill,  or  something  of  the  sort.  There  are  so  many 
things  I  can  only  half  remember  —  at  least  I  remem- 
ber the  things  themselves,  but  the  part  I  took  in 
them  seems  so  odd.  Kind  of  feeling  as  though  I'd 
been  masquerading  in  another  chap's  clothes,"  he 
added,  with  an  uneasy  little  laugh.  "  I  don't  half 
like  it." 

*'  Tell  me,"  she  persisted,  "  did  you  really  find 
the  music  tiresome .''  " 

He  nodded. 

"  Rather,"  he  confessed.  "  The  Chocolate  Soldier 
is  my  idea  of  music.  I  like  something  with  a  tune 
in  it.  There's  been  no  one  to  beat  Gilbert  and  Sulli- 
van. I  don't  know  who  wrote  this  Samson  and  Deli- 
lah, but  he  was  a  dismal  sort  of  beggar,  wasn't  he? 
I  like  something  cheerful.  Don't  you  want  to  come 
and  have  some  supper,  Edith  ?  I  know  a  place  where 
they  play  all  the  popular  music." 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  303 

**  No,  thank  you,"  she  told  him  gravely. 

**  You  seem  so  cold  and  sort  of  stand-offish  to- 
night," he  complained,  coming  a  little  closer  to  her. 
"  Some  of  those  nights  down  at  your  place  —  can't 
remember  'em  very  well  but  I  am  jolly  sure  you  were 
different.  What's  happened?  Mayn't  I  hold  your 
fingers,  even.?  " 

His  arm  would  have  been  around  her  waist,  but 
she  evaded  it  firmly. 

"Don't  you  know  what  has  happened.''"  she  de- 
manded, earnestly.     "  Don't  you  really  know  ?  " 

"  Can't  say  that  I  do,"  he  admitted.  "  I've  got 
a  sort  of  feeling  as  though  I'd  been  all  tied-up  like, 
lately.  Haven't  been  able  to  enjoy  myself  properly, 
and  gone  mooning  about  after  shadows.  To-night 
I  feel  just  as  though  I  were  coming  into  my  own 
again  a  bit.  I  say,"  he  added,  admiringly,  "  you  do 
look  stunning !  Come  and  have  some  supper  —  no 
one  will  know  —  and  let  me  drive  you  home  after- 
wards.    Do !  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

*'  I  don't  think  you  must  talk  to  me  quite  like 
this,"  she  said  kindly.  "  You  have  a  wife,  you  know, 
and  I  am  engaged  to  be  married.'* 

He  laughed,  quite  easily. 

"Never  seen  Ellen,  have  you?"  he  remarked. 
*'  She's  a  fine  woman,  you  know,  although  she  isn't 
quite  your  style.     She'd  think  you  sort  of  pale  and 


304         THE    DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

colorless,  I  expect  —  no  kind  of  go  or  dash  about 
jou." 

"  Is  that  what  you  think  ?  "  Edith  asked  him, 
smiling. 

"  You  aren't  exactly  the  style  I've  always  ad- 
mired," he  confessed,  "  but  there's  something  about 
you,"  he  added,  in  a  puzzled  manner,  —  "I  don't 
know  what  it  is  but  I  remember  it  from  a  year  ago 
—  something  that  seemed  to  catch  hold  of  me.  I 
expect  I  must  be  a  sentimental  sort  of  Johnny  under- 
neath. However,  I  do  admire  you,  Edith,  immensely. 
I  only  wish  —  " 

Again  she  evaded  him. 

"  Please  do  not  forget  Mr.  Bomford,"  she  begged. 

"  That  silly  old  ass  !  "  Burton  exclaimed.  "  Looks 
as  though  he'd  swallowed  a  poker!  You're  never 
going  to  marry  him !  " 

*'  I  think  that  I  shall,"  she  replied.  "  At  any  rate, 
at  present  I  am  engaged  to  him.  Therefore,  if  you 
please,  you  must  keep  just  a  little  further  away.  I 
don't  like  to  mention  it,  but  I  think  —  haven't  you 
been  smoking  rather  too  much?  " 

He  laughed,  without  a  trace  of  sensitiveness. 

"  I  have  been  having  rather  a  day  of  it,"  he  ad- 
mitted. "  But  I  say,  Edith,  if  you  won't  come  to 
supper,  I  think  you  might  let  a  fellow  —  " 

She  drew  back  into  her  comer. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  305 

"  Mr.  Burton,"  she  said,  "  you  must  please  not 
come  near  me." 

"  But  I  want  a  kiss,"  he  protested.  "  You'd  have 
^ven  me  one  the  other  night.  You'd  have  given 
me  as  many  as  I'd  liked.  You  almost  clung  to  me 
— ■  that  night  under  the  cedar  tree." 

Her  eyes  for  a  moment  were  half  closed. 

"  It  was  a  different  world  then,"  she  whispered 
softly.  "  It  was  a  different  Mr.  Burton.  You  see, 
since  then  a  curtain  has  come  down.  We  are  start- 
ing a  fresh  act  and  I  don't  think  I  know  you  quite 
so  well  as  I  did." 

"  Sounds  like  tommyrot,"  he  grumbled. 

The  taxicab  came  to  a  standstill.  The  man  got 
down  and  opened  the  door.  Burton  half  sulkily 
stepped  out  on  to  the  pavement. 

"  Well,  here  you  are,"  he  announced.  "  Can't 
say  that  I  think  much  of  you  this  evening." 

She  held  out  her  hand.  The}''  were  standing  on 
the  pavement  now,  in  the  light  of  a  gas-lamp,  and 
with  the  chauffeur  close  at  hand.  She  was  not  in 
the  least  afraid  but  there  was  a  lump  in  her  throat. 
He  looked  so  very  common,  so  far  away  from  those 
little  memories  with  which  she  must  grapple! 

"  Mr.  Burton,"  she  said,  "  good-night !  I  want 
to  thank  you  for  this  evening  and  I  want  to  ask  you 
to  promise  that  if  ever  you  are  sorry  because  I  per- 


3o6         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

suaded  you  to  sell  those  little  beans,  you  will  for- 
give me.  It  was  a  very  wonderful  thing,  you  know, 
and  I  didn't  understand.     Perhaps  I  was  wrong." 

"  Don't  you  worry,"  he  answered,  cheerfully. 
"  That's  all  right,  anyway.  It's  j  oily  well  the  best 
thing  I  ever  did  in  my  life.  Got  my  pockets  full  of 
money  already,  and  I  mean  to  have  a  thundering 
good  time  with  it.  No  fear  of  my  ever  blaming  you. 
Good-night,  Miss  Edith !  My  regards  to  the  gov- 
ernor and  tell  him  I  am  all  on  for  Menatogen." 

He  gave  his  hat  a  little  twist  and  stepped  back 
into  the  taxi. 

"  I  will  give  my  father  your  message,"  she  told 
him,  as  the  door  opened  to  receive  her. 

"  Righto !  "  Burton  replied.  "  Leicester  Square, 
cabby!" 


MR.  ALFRED   BURTON  307 


CHAPTER    XXIX 


SICHES    AND    BEPENTANCE 


There  was  considerable  excitement  in  Laurence 
Avenue  when  a  few  mornings  later  Mr.  Alfred  Bur- 
ton, in  a  perfectly  appointed  motor-car,  drew  up 
before  the  door  of  Clematis  Villa.  In  a  very  lei- 
surely manner  he  descended  and  stood  looking 
around  him  for  a  moment  in  the  front  garden. 

**  Poky  little  place,"  he  said  half  to  himself,  hav- 
ing completed  a  disparaging  survey.  "  Hullo,  John- 
son !    How  are  you  ?  " 

Mr.  Johnson,  who,  with  a  little  bag  in  his  hand, 
had  just  trudged  a  mile  to  save  a  penny,  looked  with 
something  like  amazement  at  the  apparition  which 
confronted  him.  Mr.  Alfred  Burton  was  arrayed  in 
town  clothes  of  the  most  pronounced  cut.  His  tail 
coat  was  exactly  the  right  length;  his  trousers,  al- 
though the  pattern  was  a  little  loud,  were  exceed- 
ingly well  cut.  He  wore  patent  boots  with  white 
gaiters,  a  carefully  brushed  silk  hat,  and  he  carried 
in  his  hand  a  pair  of  yellow  kid  gloves.  He  had  a 
malacca  cane  with  a  gold  top  under  his  arm,  and  a 
cigar  at  the  usual  angle  in  the  corner  of  his  mouth. 


3o8         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 

No  wonder  that  Mr.  Johnson,  who  was,  it  must  be 
confessed,  exceedingly  shabby,  took  his  pipe  from 
his  mouth  and  stared  at  his  quondam  friend  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"  Hullo,  Burton,  you  back  again  ?  "  he  exclaimed 
weakly. 

*' I  am  back  again  just  to  settle  up  here,"  Mr. 
Burton  explained,  with  a  wave  of  the  hand.  "  Just 
run  down  in  the  car  to  take  the  missis  out  a  little 
way." 

Mr.  Johnson  held  on  to  the  railing  tightly. 

"  Your  car.?  » 

**  My  car,"  Mr.  Burton  admitted,  modestly. 
**  Take  you  for  a  ride  some  day,  if  you  like.  How's 
the  wife.?" 

"  First-class,  thanks,"  Mr.  Johnson  repHed. 
**  First-class,  thank  you,  Mr.  Burton." 

Burton  protested  mildly. 

**  No  need  to  *  IMr.  Burton  '  me,  Johnson,  old  fel- 
low! It  shall  never  be  said  of  me  that  a  great  and 
wonderful  rise  in  the  world  altered  my  feelings 
towards  those  with  whom  I  was  once  on  terms  of 
intimacy.  I  shall  always  be  glad  to  know  you,  John- 
son. Thursday  evening,  isn't  it?  What  are  you 
and  the  wife  doing?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  Johnson  confessed,  '*  that  wc  are 
doing  anything  particular.  We  shall  turn  up  at  the 
band,  I  suppose." 


MR.   ALFRED   BURTON  309 

"  Good ! "  Mr.  Burton  said.  "  It  will  be  our  last 
Thursday  evening  in  these  parts,  I  expect,  but  after 
I  have  taken  the  wife  for  a  little  spin  we'll  walk 
round  the  band-stand  ourselves.  Perhaps  we  shall 
be  able  to  induce  jou  and  Mrs.  Johnson  to  come 
back  and  take  a  little  supper  with  us  ?  " 

Mr.  Johnson  pulled  himself  together. 

"  Very  kind  of  you,  old  cocky,"  he  declared,  trem- 
ulously.    "  Been  striking  it  thick,  haven't  you  ?  " 

Burton  nodded. 

"  Dropped  across  a  little  thing  in  the  city,"  he 
remarked,  flicking  the  dust  from  the  sleeve  of  his 
coat.  "  Jolly  good  spec  it  turned  out.  They  made 
me  a  director.  It's  this  new  Menatogen  Company. 
Heard  of  it?" 

*'  God  bless  my  soul,  of  course  I  have ! "  Johnson 
exclaimed.  "  Millions  in  it,  they  say.  The  shares 
went  from  par  to  four  premium  in  half  an  hour. 
I  know  a  man  who  had  a  call  of  a  hundred.  He's 
cleared  four  hundred  pounds." 

Mr.  Burton  nodded  in  a  most  condescending  man- 
ner. 

"  That  so  ?  "  he  remarked.  "  I've  a  matter  of  ten 
thousand  myself,  besides  some  further  calls,  but  I'm 
not  selling  just  yet.  If  your  friend's  got  any  left, 
you  can  tell  him  from  me  —  and  I  ought  to  know 
as  I'm  a  director  —  that  the  shares  will  be  at  nine 
before  long.     Shouldn't  wonder  if  they  didn't  go  to 


3IO         THE   DOUBLE   LIFE   OF 

twenty.  It's  a  grand  invention.  Best  thing  I  ever 
touched  in  my  Hfe." 

Johnson  had  been  finding  it  chilly  a  short  time  ago 
but  he  took  off  his  hat  now  and  mopped  his  fore- 
head. 

"  Haven't  been  home  lately,  have  you  ?  "  he  re- 
marked. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  Mr.  Burton  explained, 
puffing  at  his  cigar,  "  this  little  affair  has  been 
taking  up  every  minute  of  my  time.  I  had  to  take 
chambers  in  town  to  keep  up  with  my  work.  Well, 
so  long,  Johnson!  See  you  later  at  the  band-stand. 
Don't  forget  we  shall  be  expecting  you  this  evening. 
May  run  you  up  to  the  west-end,  perhaps,  if  the 
missis  feels  like  it." 

He  nodded  and  proceeded  on  his  way  to  the  front 
door  of  his  domicile.  Mr.  Johnson,  narrowly  es- 
caping an  impulse  to  take  off  his  hat,  proceeded  on 
his  homeward  way. 

*'  Any  one  at  home .''  "  Mr.  Burton  inquired,  let- 
ting himself  in. 

There  was  no  reply.  Mr.  Burton  knocked  with  his 
gold-headed  cane  upon  the  side  of  the  wall.  The 
door  at  the  end  of  the  passage  opened  abruptly. 
Ellen  appeared. 

"  What  are  you  doing  there,  knocking  all  the  plas- 
ter down  ?  "  she  demanded,  sharply.  "  If  you  want 
to  come  in,  why  can't  you  ring  the  bell?     Standing 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  311 

there  with  your  hat  on  as  though  the  place  belonged 
to  you !  " 

Burton  was  a  little  taken  aback.  He  recovered 
himself,  however,  secure  in  the  splendid  consciousness 
of  his  irreproachable  clothes  and  the  waiting  motor- 
car.   He  threw  open  the  door  of  the  parlor. 

*'  Step  this  way  a  moment,  Ellen,"  he  said. 

She  followed  him  reluctantly  into  the  room.  He 
put  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder  to  lead  her  to  the 
window.     She  shook  herself  free  at  once. 

"  Hands  off ! "  she  ordered.  "  What  is  it  you 
want.?  " 

He  pointed  out  of  the  window  to  the  magnificent 
memorial  of  his  success.  She  looked  at  it  dispar- 
agingly. 

"What's  that.?  Your  taxicab?"  she  asked. 
"  What  did  you  keep  him  for?  You  can  get  an- 
other one  at  the  comer." 

Burton  gasped. 

*'  Taxicab !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Taxicab,  indeed ! 
Look  at  it  again.  That's  a  motor-car  —  my  own 
motor-car.  Do  you  hear  that?  Bought  and  paid 
for!" 

*'  Well,  run  away  and  play  with  it,  then ! "  she 
retorted,  turning  as  though  to  leave  the  room.  "  I 
don't  want  you  fooling  about  here.  I'm  just  get- 
ting Alfred's  supper." 

Burton  dropped  his  cigar  upon  the  carpet    Even 


312  THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

when  he  had  picked  it  up,  he  stood  looking  at  her 
with  his  mouth  a  little  open. 

"  You  don't  seem  to  understand,  Ellen,"  he  said. 
"  Listen.  I've  come  back  home.  A  share  of  that 
motor-car  is  yours." 

"  Come  back  home,"  Ellen  repeated  slowly. 

"  Exactly,"  he  admitted,  complacently.  "  I  am 
afraid  this  is  rather  a  shock  for  you,  but  good  news 
never  kills,  you  know.  We'll  motor  up  to  the  band 
presently  and  I've  asked  the  Johnsons  to  supper.  If 
you've  nothing  in  the  house,  we'll  all  go  up  to  the 
west-end   somewhere.  .  .  .  What's   the    matter   with 


you 


?  " 


Ellen  was  looking  at  that  moment  positively  hand- 
some.    Her  cheeks  were  scarlet  and  her  eyes  ablaze. 

"  Alfred  Burton,"  she  declared,  "  the  last  few 
times  I've  seen  you,  I've  put  you  down  as  being  dotty. 
Now  I  am  sure  of  it.  The  sooner  you're  out  of  this, 
the  better,  before  I  lose  my  temper." 

"  But,  my  dear  Ellen,"  he  protested,  soothingly, 
*'  I  can  assure  you  that  what  I  am  telling  you  is  the 
truth!  I  have  become  unexpectedly  rich.  A  for- 
tunate stroke  of  business  —  the  Menatogen  Com- 
pany, you  know  —  has  completely  altered  our  lives. 
You  are  naturally  overcome  —  " 

"  Naturally  over-fiddlesticks !  "  Ellen  interrupted. 
**  Look  here,  my  man,  I've  had  about  enough  of  this. 
You  come  down  here,  thinking  because  you've  come 


MR.    ALFRED    BURTON  313 

to  your  senses,  and  because  you've  got  new  clothes 
and  a  motor-car,  that  you  can  just  sit  down  as 
though  nothing  had  happened.  Just  let  me  tell  you 
this  —  you  can't  do  it!  You  can  leave  your  wife 
because  she  can't  stop  you.  You  can  stay  away 
from  her  because  she  can't  drag  you  back.  But  you 
can't  come  and  put  on  a  new  suit  of  clothes  and 
bring  a  motor-car  and  say  *  I've  come  back,*  and 
sit  down  at  your  usual  place  and  find  everything 
just  as  you've  left  it.  You  can't  do  that,  Alfred 
Burton,  and  you  must  be  a  bigger  fool  even  than 
you  look  to  imagine  that  you  can !  " 

"  Ellen,"  he  faltered,  "  don't  you  want  me  back.?  '* 
*'  Not  I ! "  she  replied,  fiercely.  "  Not  you  nor 
your  motor-car  nor  your  money  nor  any  part  of 
you.  Come  swaggering  in,  dropping  your  cigar 
ash  over  the  place,  and  behaving  as  though  you'd 
been  a  respectable  person  all  your  life ! "  she  con- 
tinued, indignantly.  "  What  right  have  you  got  to 
think  that  your  wife  was  made  to  be  your  slave  or 
your  trained  dog,  to  beg  when  you  hold  out  a  piece 
of  biscuit,  and  go  and  lie  down  alone  when  you  don't 
want  her.  Send  your  three  pounds  a  week  and  get 
out  of  it.  That's  all  I  want  to  hear  of  you!  You 
know  the  way,  don't  you?  " 

Her  outstretched  forefinger  pointed  to  the  door. 
Burton  had  never  felt  so  pitifully  short  of  words  in 
his  life. 


314  THE   DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

"  I  —  I've  asked  the  Johnsons  to  supper,"  he 
stammered,  as  he  took  up  his  hat. 

"  Take  them  to  your  west-end,  then !  "  Ellen  cried, 
scornfully.  "  Take  them  riding  in  your  motor-car. 
Why  don't  you  tell  the  man  to  drive  up  and  down 
the  avenue,  that  every  one  may  see  how  fine  you  are ! 
Would  you  like  to  know  just  what  I  think  of  you?  " 

Burton  looked  into  her  face  and  felt  a  singular 
reluctance  to  listen  to  the  torrent  of  words  which 
he  felt  was  ready  to  break  upon  his  head.  He  tried 
to  hold  himself  a  little  more  upright. 

"  You  will  be  sorry  for  this,  Ellen,"  he  said,  with 
some  attempt  at  dignity. 

She  laughed  scornfully. 

"  One  isn't  sorry  at  getting  rid  of  such  as  you,'* 
she  answered,  and  slammed  the  door  behind  him. 

Burton  walked  with  hesitating  footsteps  down  the 
footpath.  This  was  not  in  the  least  the  triumphal 
return  he  had  intended  to  make!  He  stood  for  a 
moment  upon  the  pavement,  considering.  It  was 
curious,  but  his  motor-car  no  longer  seemed  to  him 
a  glorious  vehicle.  He  was  distinctly  dissatisfied 
with  the  cut  of  his  clothes,  the  glossiness  of  his  silk 
hat,  his  general  appearance.  The  thought  of  his 
bank  balance  failed  to  bring  him  any  satisfaction 
whatever.  He  seemed  suddenly,  as  clearly  as  though 
he  were  looking  into  a  mirror,  to  see  himself  with 
Ellen's  eyes.     He  recognized  even  the  blatant  stu- 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  315 

pidity  of  his  return,  and  he  admired  Ellen  more  than 
he  had  ever  admired  her  in  his  life. 

"Where  to,  sir?"  his  brand-new  chauffeur  asked. 

Burton  pitched  away  his  cigar. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  he  said,  and  turning  round, 
walked  with  firm  footsteps  back  to  the  house.  He 
tried  the  door  and  opened  it,  looked  into  the  parlor 
and  found  it  empty.  He  walked  down  the  passage 
and  pushed  open  the  door  of  the  kitchen.  Little 
Alfred's  meal  was  ready  on  a  tray,  the  room  was 
spotless  and  shining,  but  Ellen,  with  her  head  buried 
in  her  hands,  was  leaning  forward  in  her  chair,  sob- 
bing.   He  suddenly  fell  on  his  knees  by  her  side. 

"  Please  forgive  me,  Ellen !  "  he  cried,  almost  sob- 
bing himself.  "  Please  forgive  me  for  being  such 
a  rotter.  Pll  never  —  I  promise  that  I'll  never  do 
anything  of  the  sort  again." 

She  looked  up.  He  ventured  to  put  his  arm 
around  her  waist.  She  shook  herself  free,  very 
weakly.     He  tried  again  and  with  success. 

*'  I  know  Pve  made  an  idiot  of  myself,"  he  went 
on.  *'  I'd  no  right  to  come  down  here  like  that.  I 
just  want  you  to  forgive  me  now,  that's  all.  I  didn't 
mean  to  swagger  about  being  rich.  I'm  not  enjoy- 
ing it  a  bit  till  you  come  along." 

Ellen  raised  her  head  once  more.  Her  lips  were 
quivering,  half  with  a  smile,  although  the  tears  were 
still  in  her  eyes. 


3i6  THE    DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

"  Sure  you  mean  it?  "  she  asked  softly, 

'*  Absolutely !  "  he  insisted.  "  Go  and  put  on 
your  hat  with  the  feathers  and  we'll  meet  the  John- 
sons and  take  them  for  a  ride." 

"  You  don't  like  the  one  with  the  feathers,"  she 
said,  doubtfully. 

"  I  like  it  now,"  he  assured  her  heartily.  "  I'm 
fonder  of  you  at  this  moment,  Ellen,  than  any  one 
in  the  world.     I  always  have  been,  really." 

*'  Stupid !  "  she  declared.  "  I  shall  wear  my  hat 
with  the  wing  and  we  will  call  around  at  Saunders' 
and  I  can  buy  a  motor  veil.  I  always  did  think 
that  a  motor  veil  would  suit  me.  We'd  better  call 
at  Mrs.  Cross's,  too,  and  have  her  come  in  and  cook 
the  supper.  Don't  get  into  mischief  while  I'm  up- 
stairs." 

"  I'll  come,  too  —  and  see  little  Alfred,"  he  added, 
hastily. 

"  Carry  the  tray,  then,  and  mind  where  you're 
going,"  Ellen  ordered. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  317 


CHAPTER    XXX 


A    MAN  S    SOUIi 


The  half-yearly  directors'  meeting  of  the  Mena- 
togen  Company  had  just  been  held.  One  by  one, 
those  who  had  attended  it  were  taking  their  leave. 
The  auditor,  with  a  bundle  of  papers  under  his  arm, 
shook  hands  cordially  with  the  chairman  —  Alfred 
Burton,  Esquire  —  and  Mr.  Waddington,  and  Mr. 
Bomford,  who,  during  the  absence  of  the  professor 
in  Assyria,  represented  the  financial  interests  of  the 
company. 

**  A  most  wonderful  report,  gentlemen,"  the  audi- 
tor pronounced,  —  *'  a  business,  I  should  consider, 
without  its  equal  in  the  world." 

*'  And  still  developing,"  Mr.  Waddington  re- 
marked, impressively. 

"  And  still  developing,"  the  auditor  agreed.  "  An- 
other three  years  like  the  last  and  I  shall  have  the 
pleasure  of  numbering  at  least  three  millionaires 
among  my  acquaintances." 

"  Shall  we  —  ?  "  Mr.  Burton  suggested,  glancing 
towards  Waddington. 


3i8         THE    DOUBLE   LIFE    OF 

Mr.  Waddlngton  nodded,  but  Mr.  Bomford  took 
up  his  hat.  He  was  dressed  in  the  height  of  sub- 
dued fashion.  His  clothes  and  manners  would  have 
graced  a  Cabinet  Minister.  He  had,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  just  entered  Parliament. 

*'  You  will  excuse  me,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  I 
make  it  a  rule  never  to  take  anything  at  all  in  the 
middle  of  the  day." 

He  took  his  leave  with  the  auditor. 

*'  Pompous  old  ass !  "  Mr.  Waddington  murmured. 

**  A  snob ! "  Mr.  Alfred  Burton  declared,  — 
"  that's  what  I  call  him !  Got  his  eye  on  a  place  in 
Society.  Saw  his  name  in  the  paper  the  other  day 
—  a  guest  at  Lady  Somebody's  reception.  Here 
goes,  old  chap  —  success  to  Menatogen !  " 

Waddington  drained  his  glass. 

**  They  say  it's  his  wife  who  pushes  him  on  so," 
he  remarked. 

Mr.  Burton's  wine  went  suddenly  flat.  He  drank 
it  but  without  enjoyment.     Then  he  rose  to  his  feet* 

"  Well,  so  long,  Waddington,  old  chap,"  he  said. 
*'  I  expect  the  missis  is  waiting  for  me." 

Mrs.  Burton  was  certainly  waiting  for  her  hus- 
band. She  was  sitting  back  among  the  cushions  of 
her  Sixty  horse-power  Daimler,  wrapped  in  a  motor- 
ing coat  of  the  latest  fashion,  her  somewhat  brilliant 
coloring  only  partially  obscured  by  the  silver-gray 
veil  which  drooped  from  her  motor  bonnet.     Burton 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  319 

took  his  place  beside  her  almost  in  silence,  and  they 
glided  off.     She  looked  at  him  curiously, 

"Meeting  go  off  all  right?"  she  asked,  a  little 
sharply. 

"  Top  hole,"  Mr.  Burton  replied. 

"  Then  what  are  you  so  glum  about.'*  "  she  de- 
manded, suspiciously.  "  You've  got  nothing  to 
worry  about  that  I  can  see." 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  Mr.  Burton  admitted. 

"  Very  good  report  of  Alfred  came  second  post," 
Mrs.  Burton  continued.  "  They  say  he'll  be  fit  to 
enter  Harrow  next  year.  And  an  invitation  to  dine, 
too,  with  Lady  Goldstein.  We're  getting  on,  Alfred. 
The  only  thing  now  is  that  country  house.  I  wish 
we  could  find  something  to  suit  us." 

"  If  we  keep  on  looking,"  Burton  remarked,  **  we 
are  bound  to  come  across  something  sooner  or  later. 
If  not,  I  must  build." 

"  I'm  all  for  building,"  Mrs.  Burton  declared.  "  I 
don't  care  for  mouldy  old  ruins,  with  ivy  and  damp 
places  upon  the  walls.  I  like  something  fine  and 
spick  and  span  and  handsome,  with  a  tower  to  it, 
and  a  long  straight  drive  that  you  can  see  down  to 
the  -road ;  plenty  of  stone  work  about  the  windows, 
and  good  square  rooms.  As  for  the  garden,  well,  let 
that  come.  We  can  plant  a  lot  of  small  trees  about, 
and  lay  down  a  lawn.  I  don't  care  about  other  folks' 
leavings  in  houses,  and  a  lot  of  trees  around  a  place 


320         THE   DOUBLE    LIFE    OF 

always  did  put  me  off.  Have  you  told  him  where 
to  go  to?  » 

Burton  shook  his  head. 

*'  I  just  told  him  to  drive  about  thirty  or  forty, 
miles  into  the  country,"  he  said.  "  It  doesn't  matter 
in  what  direction,  does  it?  We  may  see  something 
that  will  suit  us." 

The  car,  with  its  splendid  easy  motion,  sped  noise- 
lessly through  the  suburbs  and  out  into  the  country. 
It  seemed  to  Mr.  Burton  that  he  must  have  dozed. 
He  had  been  up  late  the  night  before,  and  for  sev- 
eral nights  before  that.  He  was  a  little  puffy  about 
the  cheeks  and  his  eyes  were  not  so  bright  as  they 
had  been.  He  had  developed  a  habit  of  dozing  off 
in  odd  places.  When  he  awoke,  he  sat  up  with  a 
start.  He  had  been  dreaming.  Surely  this  was  a 
part  of  the  dream!  The  car  was  going  very  slowly 
indeed.  On  one  side  of  him  was  a  common,  with 
bushes  of  flaming  gorse  and  clumps  of  heather,  and 
little  ragged  plantations  of  pine  trees ;  and  on  his 
right,  a  low,  old-fashioned  house,  a  lawn  of  velvet, 
and  a  great  cedar  tree;  a  walled  garden  with 
straight,  box-bordered  paths,  a  garden  full  of  old- 
fashioned  flowers  whose  perfume  seemed  suddenly  to 
be  tearing  at  some  newly-awakened  part  of  the  man. 
He  sat  up.  He  stared  at  the  little  seat  among  the 
rose  bushes.  Surely  he  was  back  again,  back  again 
in  that  strange  world,  where  the  flavor  of  existence 


"  Somewhere   under   that    cedar   tree,"    he   said,    "  a   man's 
soul  was. buried."     Page  321. 


MR.   ALFRED    BURTON  321 

was  a  different  thing,  where  his  head  had  touched 
the  clouds,  where  all  the  gross  cares  and  pleasures 
of  his  everyday  life  had  fallen  away!  Was  it  the 
perfume  of  the  roses,  of  the  stocks,  which  had  sud- 
denly appealed  to  some  dormant  sense  of  beauty? 
Or  had  he  indeed  passed  back  for  a  moment  into  that 
world  concerning  which  he  had  sometimes  strange, 
half  doubtful  thoughts?  He  leaned  forward,  and 
his  eyes  wandered  feverishly  among  the  hidden  places 
of  the  garden.  The  seat  was  empty.  Propped  up 
against  the  hedge  was  a  notice  board :  "  This  House 
to  Let.'* 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  staring  at?  "  Mrs.  Bur- 
ton demanded,  with  some  acerbity.  "  A  silly  little 
place  like  that  would  be  no  use  to  us.  I  don't  know 
what  the  people  who've  been  living  there  could  have 
been  thinking  about,  to  let  the  garden  get  into  such 
a  state.  Fancy  a  nasty  dark  tree  like  that,  too,  keep- 
ing all  the  sun  away  from  the  house!  I'd  have  it 
cut  down  if  it  were  mine.  What  on  earth  are  you 
looking  at,  Alfred  Burton  ?  " 

He  turned  towards  her,  heavy-eyed. 

"  Somewhere  under  that  cedar  tree,"  he  said,  "  a 
man's  soul  was  buried.  I  was  wondering  if  its  ghost 
ever  walked ! " 

Mrs.  Burton  lifted  the  speaking-tube  to  her  lips. 

"  You  can  take  the  next  turning  home,  John," 
she  ordered. 


322  MR.   ALFRED   BURTON 

The  man's  hand  was  mechanically  raised  to  his  hat. 
Mrs.  Burton  leaned  back  once  more  among  the 
cushions. 

"  You  and  jour  ghosts !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  If 
you  want  to  sit  there,  thinking  like  an  owl,  you'd 
better  try  and  think  of  some  of  your  funny  stories 
for  to-night.  You'll  have  to  sit  next  that  stuck-up 
Mrs.  Bomford,  and  she  takes  a  bit  of  amusing." 


THB    END. 


Has  all  the  ear  marks  of  an  Oppenheim  tale."* 


THE   TEMPTING 
OF  TAVERN AKE 


By  E.  PHILLIPS  OPPENHEIM 

Author  of  "  The  Mischief  Maker,"  "  The  Lighted  Way,"  eta 
Illustrated  by  Edmund  Frederick.     12iuo.    $1.25  mt. 


Ingenious  plot ;  incessant  flow  of  incident ;  sharply  cut,  aptly 
contrasted  characters. — Philadelphia  North  American. 

The  girl,  the  siren,  the  detective,  the  father,  and  the  young 
man  have  an  absorbing  story  in  themselves,  and  one  of  Mr. 
Oppenheim's  best  late  novels  is  the  result — Baltimore  News. 

It  illustrates  the  writer's  ability  to  create  a  most  lovable 
•woman  character.  The  plot  is  decidedly  original,  the  London 
atmosphere  is  alluring  and  there  are  ample  incidents  without 
undue  sensationalism.  —  Detroit  News. 

When  opening  Mr.  Oppenheim's  books  one  may  feel  sure  of 
thrills.  "  The  Tempting  of  Tavernake,"  is  no  exception  to  this 
rule  ...  It  will  provide  the  reader  with  as  many  sensations  as 
he  will  care  to  crowd  into  one  sitting. —  Philadelphia  Ledger. 

If,  as  certain  philosophers  have  claimed,  the  mission  of 
fiction  is  to  keep  the  people  awake,  the  author  of  this  new  novel 
has  no  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  his  work  .  .  .  The  story  moves 
briskly  on  through  constantly  changing  scenes.  One  dramatic 
incident  follows  close  on  the  heels  of  another  .  .  .  Mr.  Oppenheim 
unravels  a  plot  of  unusual  complications. —  James  L.  Ford  in  the 
N.  Y.  Herald. 


LITTLE,  BROWN  &  CO.,  Pubushkbs 
34  BnACON  Sthekt,  Boston 


**A  capital  story  of  action  and  mystery ' 


THE  MISCHIEF-MAKER 


By  E.  PHILLIPS  OPPENHEIM 

Author  of  "The  Double  Life  of  Mr.  Alfred  Burton/ 

"  The  Lighted  Way,"  etc. 

Illustrated  by  Hanson  Booth.     12mo.     $l.'25net 


His  latest  novel,  one  of  the  most  absorbing  that  have  come 
from  his  pen.  — Philadelphia  Public-Ledger. 

Almost  from  the  first  moment  the  reader's  chief  concern  will 
be  to  keep  up  with  the  breathlessly  moving  tale.  —  Philadelphia 
Press. 

Filled  with  political  intrigue,  excitement,  ingenious  human 
character  and  the  inevitable  "heart  interest"  —  Boston 
Advertiser. 

Frankly  a  "spellbinder".  .  .  its  literary  qualities  and  its 
brilliant  pictures  of  life  raise  it  above  the  class  of  the  merely 
sensational.  —  New  York  Times. 

For  years  and  years  —  at  least  they  seem  many  and  swift 
because  of  the  pleasures  they  have  brought  us  —  E.  Phillips 
Oppenheira  has  been  coining  from  an  inexhaustible  mint  the 
purest  of  romances  ...  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that  in  "  The 
Mischief-Maker"  Mr.  Oppenheim  has  outdone  himself,  and 
that  the  reader  who  cannot  enjoy  it  is  hopeless.  It  is  Oppen- 
heim at  its  very  best.  —  Boston  Transcript. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  Publishers 
34  Beacon  Street,  Bostok 


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